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Francis  Bacon 
and  his  shakespeare 


I'osi    .'-card  requesis  or  onjeiaiu.ucs"' —-•-.- 

No.  l,36n  will  secure  early  attention  of  carriers  In 
any  district.  ^^       , , 

Address  THE  EVENING  POST.  Times-Herald 
Building,  Chicago.  111. . 

SATURDAY,    OCTOBER  12,  1895. 


ANOTHER     TRIBUTE    TO     BACON. 

The  growing  supply  of  Shakespeare-Bacon 

Mterature  is  augmented  by  the  able  efforts 

of  Theron  S.  K.  Dixon,  wlio  in  a  handsomely 

prepared   volume,   "Francis  Bacon  and  His 

Shakespeare,"  lays  an  earnest  tribute  at  tlie 

feat  of  the  philosopher.    Mr.  Dixon  says  in  a 

rj5«f^pf:t   preface    that    he   is  satisfied  that  his 

•='-**-°^  wKich  will  be  conclusive 

^suibSb  aoipnfaJd  aujlluaS    b    aq    oj  'sur.jys- ^r>1avs. 


FRANCIS  BACON 

AND  HIS  SHAKESPEARE 


BY 


THERON  S.  E.  DIXON 


Not  to  prove  it,  hut  jyerhaps  to  show  it,  —  to  make  it  manifest. 


CHICAGO 

STIje  Sargent  ^^uMfsfjing  (i!!:0mpaTtg 

155()  MoNADNocK  Block 
1895 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
Theron  S.  E.  Dixon 


Thr  Dial  Press. 


p^l    d.- 


TO  MY   WIFE, 

BERTHA  L.  DIXON, 

THIS  BOOK    IS   AFFECTIONATELY   INSCRIBED; 

FOR   IT   COULD   NOT    HAVE    BEEN    COMPLETED 

EXCEPT  FOR  DER  LOVING  KINDNESS  AND  IiEK 

FAITHFUL  CO-OPERATION. 

T.  S.  E,  D. 


A  too  vivid  realization  of  the  fact,  with  all  that  it  implies, 
is  herein  an  obvious  fault ;  one  only  to  be  forgiven  when,  in 
after  years,  this  realization  shall  have  oecoine  rt.  part  of  the 
consciousness  of  the  people. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

Prologue ix. 

I.     A  Continuous  Parallelism 11 

I.     (Continued) 55 

II.     The  "New  Birth" 101 

III.  The  Alphabet  of  the  Plays 114 

III.  (Continued) 131 

IV.  Their  Primer 155 

V.     "  Julius  C^sar  " 181 

VL            "             «         199 

VII.            "             ''         223 

VIII.            "            "         253 

IX.            "            "         274 

IX.     (Continued) 289 

X.     The  Impulse 304 

XI.     The  Style 321 

XII.     The  Thought 355 

XIII.     Bacon's  Work 372 

XIII.     (Continued) 408 

An  After -Word.  —  The  Law 430 


"to  get  at  the  being  of  a  great  author,  to  come  into  rela- 
tionshii'  with  his  aksolute  personality,  is  the  highest  result  of 

THE   STUDY   OF   HIS   WORKS." — ProPESSOU  HirAM  CorSON. 


PEOLOGUE. 

The  Tribunal  of  History  is  always  open.  Its  session  is 
one  continuous  term ;  and  therefore,  its  judgments  are 
ever  subject  to  review.  Nor  is  attendance  at  its  bar  lim- 
ited to  a  privileged  class :  any  one  may  at  any  time  move 
a  rehearing;  and  not  even  a  "retainer"  is  required,  as 
authority  for  his  appearance.  Nevertheless,  and  justly, 
there  is  no  court  in  which  it  is  so  difficult  to  win  a  case. 
Old  Father  Time  is  almost  always  of  the  opposing  counsel : 
and  his  wisdom,  age,  and  experience  have  great  weight  in 
a  tribunal  where  humanity  sits  in  judgment  upon  itself  ; 
w  hose  probity  is  the  integrity  of  the  race,  and  whose  records 
are  of  the  issues  of  its  life.  And,  especially  when  its  adju- 
dication has  been  entered  of  record  for  three  hundred 
years,  it  is  not  only  apparently,  but  actually,  the  height  of 
presumption,  for  one  utterly  unknown  within  its  precincts 
to  enter  his  appearance  and  deliberately  ask  for  its  reversal, 
—  unless  he  succeeds.  And  as  with  the  Sphinx  and  its 
riddles,  whose  solution  was  open  to  all,  the  penalty  of  his 
failure  is  in  effect  death,  or  at  least  banishment.  Never- 
more can  he  gain  the  ear  of  the  court. 

Dropping  this  pleasant  fancy,  for  I  would  not  have  this 
book  regarded  as  fiction  (though  were  it  false,  it  might 
1)erhaps  be  humorously  termed  a  work  of  imagination  ; 
and  if  it  be  true,  its  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction),  I  would 
state,  as  the  warrant  for  its  appearance,  that  there  are 
here  presented  data  which  have  convinced  me,  beyond  a 
reasonable  doubt,  that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Shake- 
spearian Plays.  It  may  be  that  my  judgment  is  at  fault, 
that  I  am  the  victim  of  illusion  ;  but  if  so,  as  these  data 


X.  PROLOGUE. 

are  here  placed  before  the  reader  In  just  the  light  iu  which 
they  appeal  to  my  understanding,  this  fault  must  soon  be- 
come glaringly  apparent.  But  on  the  contrary,  if  I  am 
right,  and  the  data,  in  and  of  themselves,  are  really  con- 
vincing, then  I  shall  have  good  company. 

Whatever  be  the  event,  I  have  ali-eady  received  an 
ample  revv^ard,  in  the  acquirement  of  a  better  acquaintance 
with  him  of  whom  I  write.  This  I  would  share  with  the 
reader :  and  I  am  confident  that  he  will  gain  from  the 
perusal  of  this  book,  if  nothing  else,  at  least  additional 
knowledge  of  Francis  Bacon, 

The  greatest,  the  brightest,  the  least  understood 

Of  mankind. 


FRANCIS  BACON 
AND  Ills  SHAKESPEARE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


It  is  a  thrice-told  tale  of  Gilbert  Stuart,  the  painter,  that 
having  confided  to  a  friend  a  secret  in  the  mixture  of  col- 
ors,  when  this  friend  afterwards  asked  that  it  might  be 
intrusted  to  another,  Stuart  refused ;  writing,  "  I  know  it, 
that  is  1 ;  you  know  it,  that  makes  11 ;  tell  your  friend, 
and  there  are  111  ;  but  that  is  one  hundred  and  eleven." 
This  graphic  portrayal  of  the  cumulative  effect  of  num- 
bers upon  the  disclosure  of  a  secret  illustrates  equally  well 
the  multiplied  potency  of  evidence  in  the  revelation  of  the 
truth,  when  it  links  together  in  a  continuous  sequence, 
instead  of  being  merely  an  aggregation  of  disconnected 
facts.  That  which  before  had  only  a  nominal  value  of 
three,  is  thereby,  under  the  established  laws  of  evidence, 
raised  to  an  actual  probative  power  of  one  hundred  and 
eleven  ;  while  the  addition  of  another  unit  in  the  like  rela- 
tions increases  its  value  to  one  thousand  one  hundred  and 
eleven.  If  we  continue  this  process  indefinitely.  Arithmetic 
at  length  becomes  "  dizzy  "  and  we  arrive  at  certainty,  the 
end  of  mathematics.  Always  provided  that  it  is  possible 
for  the  human  intellect,  unaided,  to  arrive  at  certainty 
regarding  anything;  —  for  only  the  Infinite  One  can  com- 
prehend all  the  relations,  which  in  their  whole  constitute 
the  Truth. 

One  after  another,  isolated  parallelisms  between  the 


12  FRANCIS    BACON 

plays  and  Bacon's  acknowledged  writings  have  been  re- 
peatedly pointed  out,  in  ever-increasing  numbers.  But 
the  general  public  still  remains  unconvinced  of  Bacon's 
authorship  ;  evidently  for  some  good  reason,  for  it  is  but 
fair  to  presume  the  prevalence  of  sincerity  and  of  a  will- 
ingness to  know  and  accept  the  reality,  if  only  it  be  made 
clearly  manifest. 

The  reason  is  to  be  found  in  that  conservative  instinct, 
dominant  in  the  sound  mind,  which  forbids  the  acceptance 
of  a  novel  theory,  if  the  facts  presented  in  its  support, 
interpreted  in  the  light  of  experience,  are  fairly  explain- 
able in  harmony  with  the  old  established  beliefs. 

This  is  altogether  to  be  commended  ;  for  otherwise  hu- 
manity, drifting  from  its  moorings,  without  bearings  or 
compass,  would  be  perpetually  tossed  upon  the  waves  of 
inconstant  opinion,  on  a  veritable  mare  incognitiim. 

Now,  fairly  stated,  like  parallelisms,  though  in  much 
less  numbers  in  each  instance,  have  been  found  in  the  writ- 
ings of  many  authors,  ancient  and  modern,  and  where 
obviously,  in  many  cases,  they  fall  within  the  category 
of  coincidences.  Hence  the  attitude  generally  assumed 
towards  these  newly  discovered  parallelisms.  While  they 
are  confessedly  numerous,  some  of  them  very  striking, 
nevertheless,  this  ready  explanation,  drawn  from  experi- 
ence, is  almost  involuntarily  applied  to  them ;  and  in  result, 
the  conservative  mind  usually  withholds  its  assent,  regard- 
ing them  merely  as  coincidences  ;  interesting  perhaps,  and 
it  may  be  inviting  further  investigation,  but  as  wholly 
insufficient,  in  and  of  themselves,  to  establish  the  proposi- 
tion advanced. 

Coincidences,  indeed,  are  in  their  essence  simply  devel- 
opments of  chance;  capricious,  intermittent,  irregular,  and 
desultory  in  their  happenings.  Such  likewise  are  isolated 
parallelisms,  and  therefore  the  pertinent  application  of  the 
theory  of  coincidences  in  their  explanation. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  13 

But  ouee  eliminate  these  characteristics  by  the  unfold- 
iug  of  a  continuous  parallelism,  running  through  the  whole 
of  a  material  portion  of  one  of  the  principal  plays,  involv- 
ing a  wide  diversity  of  elements,  and  faithful  both  in  de- 
tail and  comprehensively,  and  obviously  the  theory  of 
chance  as  an  explanation  would  no  longer  be  tenable,  since 
it  would  cease  to  be  applicable.  We  would  then  enter 
another  domain,  where  law  prevails,  and  where  by  con- 
tinued application  we  must  come  at  length  to  a  definite 
and  satisfactory  conclusion  ;  as  surely  as  did  Harvey,  when 
he  traced  the  blood  through  the  veins  and  arteries  till  he 
arrived  at  the  heart  of  the  matter  and  the  solution  of  the 
problem. 

But  is  not  the  fulfilment  of  such  a  condition  an  impos- 
sibility with  any  author,  comparing  even  his  acknowledged 
writings,  when  upon  different  subjects  ?  Truly,  it  would 
be  so  anomalous,  so  contrary  to  all  recognized  human  expe- 
rience, that  to  some  minds,  conservative  ones  too,  if  found 
in  any  production,  it  would  be  only  explainable  upon  the 
hypothesis  that  it  was  thus  written  of  purpose,  with  that 
design  and  intent  —  a  difficult  but  not  impossible  under- 
taking. The  reader,  however,  must  be  the  judge  as  to 
whether  this  onerous  condition  be  indeed  here  fulfiled. 

We  have  selected  for  comparison  Prospero's  nai-rative 
to  Miranda  of  their  previous  history,  in  The  Tempest, 
Act  I.,  Scene  2,  it  being  admirably  adapted  for  the  pur- 
pose. It  is  from  beginning  to  end  deeply  interesting,  a 
revelation  of  humanity  in  its  stern  reality,  uncovering  the 
recesses  of  the  heart,  bringing  into  view  its  motives,  its 
choices  and  their  consequences,  and  enabling  us  to  follow 
continuously  its  devious  workings.  It  is  of  considerable 
length,  extending  over  five  pages  in  the  "  Handy  Volume" 
edition :  it  is  complete  in  itself,  forming  a  well-rounded 
whole,  and  yet  integral  with  the  play,  its  very  core,  the 
central  hub  into  which  all  the  spokes  converge. 


14  FRANCIS    BACON 

The  following  brief  quotations  from  Mr.  Denton  J. 
Snider's  able  commentary  on  The,  Shakesjyectrian  Drama 
sufficiently  indicate  the  relative  importance  of  the  selec- 
tion : 

'■'•  Teinpest  stands  very  high  in  the  list  of  Shakespeare's 
dramas ;  in  some  respects  it  is  his  supreme  work.  Its 
wonderful  types,  its  perfect  symmetrical  structure,  its 
bright  poetic  language,  but,  above  all,  its  profound  signifi- 
cation, must  always  make  it  a  favorite  among  the  thought- 
ful readers  of  the  Poet." 

"  The  play  is  often  considered  Shakespeare's  last,  and  it 
may  be  regarded  as  a  final  summing  up  of  his  activity — 
or,  indeed,  that  of  any  great  poet." 

"  The  Poet  clearly  enters  the  realm  of  conscious  sym- 
bolism, in  the  present  drama,  and  the  i-eadcr  must  follow 
him  or  remain  outside.  .  .  .  Hamlet  is  doubtless  more 
fully  delineated  ;  still  in  Prospero  the  Poet  is  all  his  char- 
acters and  himself  too." 

"  The  second  scene  of  the  First  Act,  which  now  follows, 
is  the  most  important  one  in  the  play,  for  it  gives  the  key 
to  the  action.  .  .  .  He  lays  down  his  magic  mantle — that 
is,  he  assumes  the  individual  relation  to  his  daughter  — 
and  then  begins  to  give  an  account  of  his  life  and  conflicts 
as  an  individual." 

This  ostentatious  laying  aside  of  the  magic  garment, 
and  with  it  his  subtle  power  over  the  elements,  is  evidently 
part  of  the  symbolism  of  the  play  :  it  invites  our  atten- 
tion and  possibly  influences  our  choice. 

The  intrinsic  impoi'tanee  of  the  proceeding  would  seem 
to  justify  the  length  of  the  selection,  if  indeed  it  be  not  a 
necessity  of  the  situation  ;  while  doubters,  at  least,  should 
be  the  first  to  commend  and  the  last  to  complain.  What- 
ever be  the  outcome,  however,  the  reader's  patience  may 
perhaps  be  amply  rewarded  by  the  attainment,  inciden- 
tally, of  a  better  comprehension  of  Francis  Bacon  him- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  15 

self,  and  of  his  varied  and  wonderful  powers ;  whose  qual- 
ity may  be  tasted  even  in  the  crumbs  that  have  here  fallen 
from  his  bountiful  table.  If  the  reader  will  kindly  bear 
this  in  mind,  the  proverbial  "  dry  crusts  "  of  annotations 
may  possibly  be  transformed,  by  his  subtle  alchemy,  into 
both  palatable  and  nutritious  food. 

The  broader  the  lines  traversed  in  the  reader's  mind, 
the  more  comprehensive  the  view  that  will  open  before 
him:  and  defects  in  details,  incident  to  such  a  possibility, 
may  perhaps  be  forgiven,  in  the  greater  satisfaction  af- 
forded by  the  enlarged  prospect.  Moreover,  any  structure 
is  much  more  stable  resting  upon  a  base  than  upon  a  point : 
and  certainly,  in  this  case,  the  foundation  will  be  the  more 
solid,  if  the  manifestation  of  the  workings  of  one  and  the 
same  unique  mentality  be  made  not  only  continuous,  but 
continuously  abundant. 

( For  convenient  comparison,  the  quotations  from 
Bacon's  recognized  writings  are  interposed  between  the 
lines  of  the  play,  the  italics  being  in  most  cases  our  own.} 

"Twelve  years  since,  Miranda,  twelve  years  since," 

The  name  Miranda  is  itself  exquisitely  significant,  and 
according  to  ancient  classic  usage,  symbolizes  the  quality 
therein  expressed ;  thus  delicately  shadowing  forth  the 
essential  character  of  the  play. 

"  It  may  be  that  my  reverence  for  the  primitive  time 
carries  me  too  far,  but  the  truth  is  that  in  some  of  these 
fables,  as  well  in  the  very  frame  and  texture  of  the  story 
as  in  the  propriety  of  the  names  by  which  the  persons 
that  figure  in  it  are  distinguished,  I  find  a  conformity 
and  connection  with  the  thing  specified,  so  close  and  so 
evident,  that  one  cannot  help  believing  such  a  significa- 
tion to  have  been  designed  and  meditated  from  tlu^  first, 
and  purposely  shadowed  out.  .  .  .  Then  again  there  is 
a  conformity  and  significance  in  the  very  names,  which 


16  FRANCIS    BACON 

must  be  clear  to  everybody.  Metis,  Jupiter's  wife,  plainly 
means  Counsel ;  Typhon,  swelling ;  Pan,  the  universe ; 
Nemesis,  revenge  ;  and  the  like." — Preface  to  Wisdom  of 
the  Ancients. 

The  Poet,  indeed,  later  in  the  play  (Act  III.,  Sc.  1) 
gives  beautiful  expression  to  his  conception  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  name  in  one  of  its  phases : 

"Admired  Miranda! 
Indeed,  the  top  of  admiration." 

If  we  turn  to  De  Augmentis^  Fourth  Book,  Chap.  1,  it 
will  afford  us  a  glimpse  not  only  of  the  height,  but  of  the 
breadth  and  richness  of  the  thought  here  expressed,  and 
of  its  classic  origin : 

"  But  that  other  subject  of  the  Prerogatives  of  Man 
seems  to  me  to  deserve  a  place  among  the  desiderata. 
Pindar  in  praising  Hiero  says  most  elegantly  (as  is  his 
wont)  that  he  '  culled  the  tops  of  all  the  virtues.'  And 
certainly  I  think  it  would  contribute  much  to  magnanimity 
and  the  honor  of  humanity,  if  a  collection  were  made  of 
what  the  schoolmen  call  the  ultimities.,  and  Pindar  tlie 
tops  or  summits  of  human  nature,  especially  from  true 
history  ;  shewing  what  is  the  ultimate  and  highest  point 
which  human  nature  has  of  itself  attained  in  the  several 
gifts  of  body  and  mind." 

"  So  as  there  was  nothing  to  be  added  to  this  great 
king's  felicity,  being  at  the  top  of  all  worldly  bliss." — 
History  of  Henry  VII.* 

"Thy  fatlicr  was  the  Duke  of  Milan  and 
A  prince  of  power." 
"  Which  words  cost  him  his  Duchy  of  Milan,  and  ut- 

*  ''  That  thou,  my  biotliev,  my  competitor 

In  top  of  all  design." — Antony  and  Cleopatra,  V.,  1. 

*'  For  princes  being  at  the  top  of  hiunau  desires,  they  have 
fur  the  most  part  no  ])articular  ends  whereto  they  aspire." — 
Advancement  of  Learning,  Second  Book. 


ANIJ)   HIS   SHAKESPEARE.  17 

terly  ruined  his  affairs  in  Italy." —  Of  the  True  Great- 
ness, of  the  Khigdcyni  of  Britain. 

" —  and  the  like  was  done  by  that  league  (which  Gui- 
ociardini  saitli  was  the  security  of  Italy),  made  between 
Ferdinando  King  of  Naples,  Lorenzins  Medicis,  and  Ludo- 
vicus  Sforza,  'potentates.,  the  one  of  Florence,  the  other  of 
Milan."—  Of  Eminre. 

"  But,  my  lords,  I  labor  too  much  in  a  clear  business. 
The  king  is  so  wise,  and  hath  so  good  friends  abroad,  as 
now  he  knoweth  Duhe  Perkin  from  his  cradle.  And 
because  he  is  a  great  |jr/wce,  if  you  have  any  good  2>oet 
here,  he  can  help  him  with  notes  to  write  his  life ;  and  to 
parallel  him  with  Lambert  Simnel,  now  the  king's  fal- 
coner."—  History  of  Henry  VII.^' 

*  It  appears  from  tlie  context  that  this  Perkin  was  an  impos- 
tor, feigning  himself  to  be  Richard,  Duke  of  York,  second  son 
of  Edward  the  Fourth,  who  in  fact  had  been  murdered  by  Rich- 
ard III.  Lambert  Simnel  was  another  impostor  already  exposed. 
The  subtle  play  of  wit  in  this  reference  to  the  poet's  work  will 
perhaps  be  better  appreciated  by  reading  the  following  from 
As  You  Like  It,  Act  III.,  Scene  2  : 

"  To7ichstone.  Truly,  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee  poetical. 

''^Audrey.  I  do  not  know  what  jioetical  is  ;  is  it  honest  in 
deed  and  work?  is  it  a  true  thing? 

"  Touchstone.  No,  truly ;  for  the  truest  poetry  is  the  most 
feigning ;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry  ;  and  what  they  swear 
in  poetry,  may  be  said  as  lovers,  they  do  feign. 

'■'■Audrey.  Do  you  wish,  then,  that  the  gods  had  made  me 
poetical? 

"  Touchstone.  I  do,  truly  ;  for  thou  swear'st  to  me  thou  art 
honest ;  now  if  thou  wert  a  poet  I  might  have  some  hope  thou 
did'st  feign." 

"  Yet  this  I  must  say,  that  it  is  a  strange  form  of  proof  to 
put  a  number  of  cases  where  this  writ  hath  been  obeyed,  which 
is  directly  against  you  ;  and  then  to  feign  to  yourself  what  was 
the  reason  why  it  was  obeyed,  and  to  go  on  and  imagine  that 
if  it  had  been  and  thus  it  would  not  have  been  obeyed.  Sir,  the 
story  is  good;  but  yonv ^ioetry  why  it  was  done  if  the  case  had 


18  FRANCIS    BACON 

"Mir.  Sir,  are  you  not  my  father? 
Fros.  Tliy  motlier  was  a  piece  of  virtue," 

This  word  jriece  has  been  somewhat  perplexing  to  the 
critics.  We  learn  from  the  admirable  Henry  Irving  edi- 
tion of  the  plays  that  the  New  Shakespeare  Society,  after 

diflPered, — therein  you  do  but  please  yourself;  it  will  never  move 
the  Court  at  all." — Case  de  liege  hiconsnlto. 

But  this  play  upon  poetry  was  based  upon  a  profound  phil- 
osojihy : 

"  Therefore,  because  the  acts  or  events  of  true  history  have 
not  that  magnitude  which  satisfieth  the  mind  of  man,  poetry 
feigneth  acts  and  events  greater  and  more  heroical ;  because 
true  history  propoundeth  the  successes  and  issues  of  actions 
not  so  agreeable  to  the  merits  of  virtue  and  vice ;  therefore 
^oeh'y  feigns  them  more  just  in  retribution,  and  more  according 
to  revealed  providence;  because  ti'ue  history  representeth  actions 
and  events  more  ordinary  and  less  interchanged,  therefore  poetry 
endueth  them  with  more  rareness,  and  more  unexpected  and 
alternative  variations.  So  it  appeareth  that  poetry  serveth  and 
conferreth  to  magnanimity,  morality,  and  to  delectation."  — 
Advancement  of  Learning,  Second  Book. 

"  With  all  that  poets  feign  of  bliss  and  joy." 

—  ///.,  Henry  VL,  /.,  3. 
^^Poet.   Sir,  I  have  upon  a  high  and  pleasant  hill 
Feigned  Foitune  to  be  throned." — Timon  of  Athens,  /.,  1. 

"  Therefore  the  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and  floods." 
—  Merchant  of  Venice,  V.,  1. 
"  For  herein  the  invention  of  one  of  the  later  poets  [Ariosto 
in  Orlando  Furioso'],  by  which  he  has  enriched  the  ancient  fic- 
tion, is  not  inelegant.     Re  feigns  that  at  the  end  of  the  thread 
or  web  of  every  man's  life  there  hangs  a  little  medal  or  collar, 
on  which  his  name  is  stamped ;  and  that  Time  waits  upon  the 
shears  of  Atroi)os,  and  as  soon  as  the  thread  is  cut,  snatches  the 
medals,  carries  them  olf,  and  presently  throws  them  into  the 
river  Lethe ;   and  about  the  river  there  are  many  birds  flyino- 
up  and  down,  who  catch  the  medals,  and  after  carrying  them 
round  and  round  in  their  beaks  a  little  while,  let  them  fall  into 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  19 

discussion,  endorsed  Jvicbaid  Grant  White's  interpreta- 
tion, as  meaning  "  woman."  But  possibly  the  word  is  used 
here  in  another  and  more  special  sense,  distinctively  pecu- 
liar, and  arising  out  of  a  train  of  associations  best  indicated 
by  the  following  brief  quotations ;  which  put  the  reader 
into  line  with  Bacon's  mode  of  thought,  and  also  reveal  his 
remarkable  power  of  casting  into  the  mould  of  material 
things  such  abstract  qualities  as  virtue  and  justice : 

"  For  I  never  saw  but  that  business  is  like  a  child  which 
i'?.frmncd  invisibly  in  the  womb  ;  and  if  it  come  forth  too 
soon,  it  will  be  abortive." — Letter  to  King  James J^ 

the  river ;  only  there  are  a  few  swans,  which  if  they  get  a 
medal  with  a  name  carry  it  off  to  a  temple  consecrated  to  im- 
mortality. Now  this  kind  of  swan  is  for  the  most  part  wanting 
in  our  age." — De  Augmentis,  Second  Book. 

("Why,  then,  let  grievous,  ghastly,  gaping  wounds 
Untwine  the  sisters  three!     Come  Atropos,  I  say  !  " 

—  II.,  Henry  IV.,  II..  4- 
"Why  do  yoit  bend  such  solemn  brows  on  me? 
Think  you  I  bear  the  shears  of  destiny  ? 
Have  I  commandment  on  the  pnlse  of  life?" 

—  King  John,  IV.,  2. 
"Therefore,  my  lord,  go  travel  for  awhile, 
Till  that  his  rage  and  anger  be  forgot ; 
Or  till  the  Destinies  cut  his  thread  of  life." 

— Pericles,  I.,  2. 
"Was  this  easy? 
Mav  this  be  washed  in  Lethe,  and  forgotten?" 

—  11.,  Henry  IV.,  V.,2.) 
*  "  Frame  the  business  after  your  own  wisdom." 

—  King  Lear,  I.,  2. 
"'Tis  wonder 
That  an  invisible  instinct  should /?'ame  them 
To  royalty  unlearned." —  Cymheline,  IV.,  2. 
"  When  uatnve  framed  this  jnece,  she  meant  thee  a  good  turn." 

— Pericles,  IV.,  ii- 

"  [^Enicr  Coriolanus'  luife,  mother,  and.  child.'] 
My  wife  comes  foremost ;  then  the  honor'd  mould 


20  FRANCIS    BACON 

''  Bat  to  come  to  tlie  present  ease ;  the  great  />Y/???f  of 
justice  (my  Lords)  in  this  present  action,  hath  a  Vault 
and  it  hath  a  Stage  ;  a  Vault  wherein  these  works  of  dark- 
ness were  contained  ;  and  a  Stage,  with  steps,  by  which 
they  were  brought  to  light." — Charge  aciai)is.t  the  Coun- 
tess of  Somerset. 

"  Wherein  first  Mr.  Lumsden  plays  his  part,  whose 
offence  stands  alone  single,  the  offence  of  the  other  two 
being  in  consort ;  and  yet  all  three  meeting  in  their  end 
and  center,  which  was  to  interrupt  or  deface  this  excel- 
lent j>iece  of  justice." — Charge  against  Wentworth  et  al. 

"  And  for  mercy  and  grace  (without  which  there  is  no 
standing  before  justice)  we  see  the  King  now  hath  reigned 
twelve  years  in  his  white  robe,  without  any  aspersion  of 
the  crimson  dye  of  blood.  There  sits  my  lord  Hobart, 
that  served  Attorney  seven  years.  I  served  with  him. 
We  were  so  happy  as  there  passed  not  through  our  hands 
any  one  arraignment  for  treason  ;  and  but  one  for  any 
capital  offence ;  which  was  that  of  the  Lord  Sanquhar ; 
the  noblest  piece  of  justice  (one  of  them)  that  ever  came 
forth  in  any  King's  times." —  Charge  against  St.  John. 

"  First  therefore  (my  Lord)  call  to  mind  oft  and  con- 
sider duly  how  infinitely  your  Grace  is  bound  to  God,  in 
this  one  point,  which  I  find  to  be  a  most  rare  ^9*ece,  and 
wherein,  either  of  ancient  or  later  times,  there  are  few  ex- 
amples :  That  is,  that  you  are  so  dearly  beloved  both  of 
the  King  and  Princc."^ —  Letter  of  Advice  to  Bucking- 
ham.^'' 

And  finally,  and  in  a  connection  alike  applicable  to  man 
or  woman : 

"  I  do  esteem  whatsoever  I  have,  or  may  have  in  this 
world  but  as  trash,  in  comparison  of  having  the  honor 
and  hap])iness  to  be  a  near  and  well  accepted  kinsman  to 
so  rare   and  worthy  a  counsellor,  governor,  and  patriot. 

Wherein  tliis  trunk  was  fniin'd,  and  in  her  hand 
The  grandchild  to  her  blood." —  Coriulanus,  V.,  3. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  21 

For  having  been  a  studious,  if  not  curious  observer,  as 
well  of  antiquities  of  virtue  as  late  pieces,  I  forbear  to 
say  to  your  Lordship  what  I  find  ancF^onceive ;  but  to 
any  other  I  v/ould  think  to  make  myself  believed." — Neio 
Years  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Salisburi/.* 

"and 
She  said  thou  wast  my  daughter;  " 

This  subtle  touch  finds  its  counterpart  in  one  of  Bacon's 
Ajjothegnis  : 

"  There  was  a  young  man  in  Rome  that  was  very  like 
Augustus  Csesar :  Augustus  took  knowledge  of  him,  sent 
for  the  man  and  asked  him,  '  Was  your  mother  never  at 
Rome  ? '     He  answered,    '  No,  Sir,  but  my  father  was.'  " 

As  indelicacy  appears  in  many  of  the  plays,  it  is  part 
of  the  res  (/esta,  a  factor  in  the  problem :  the  reader  is 
therefore  referred  to  Bacon's  A2Wtherjms,  and  also  to  his 
History  of  Henry  VII.,  Spedding's  Works,  Vol.  VI.,  page 
215,  or  Bohn's  ed.  Essays,  &c.,  page  452,  which  will 
doubtless  prove  sufficient  upon  this  point,  and  will  illus- 
trate his  humor  as  well. 


/ 


*  "  Thou  art  a  piece  of  virtue,  /^  *  <•■ 

And  I  doubt  not  but  thy  training  hath  been  noble." 

—Pericles,  IV.,  6. 
"  Their  transformations  ^^^^ 

Were  never  for  a  piece  of  beauty  rarer,  '' 

Nor  in  a  way  so  chaste." — A  Winter's  Tale,  IV.,  3. 
"•And  thou  fresh  piece 
Of  excellent  witchcraft,  who,  of  force,  must  know 
The  royal  fool  thou  cop'st  with." — Id. 

*'  Yet  to  imagine  t 

An  Antony,  were  nature's  piece  'gainst  fancy,  /'  '-*' 

Condemning  shadows  quite." — Ant.  and  Cleo.,  V-,  1. 

"  All  princely  graces,  / 

That  vwidd  up  such  a  jdeee  as  this  is,  / ' 

With  all  the  virtues  that  attend  the  good. 
Shall  still  be  doubled  on  hev.''— Henry  VIII.,  V.,  5. 


22  FRANCIS    BACON 

"and  thy  father 
Was  Duke  of  Milan ;  and  thou  his  only  heir 
And  princess  no  worse  issued." 
Issued  is  a  legal  term,  or  rather  the  legal  phrase  or 
form  of  expressing  the  fact.* 

"  But  to  your  Majesty,  whom  God  hath  already  blessed 
with  so  much  royal  issue,  worthy  to  continue  and  repre- 
sent you  forever,  and  whose  youthful  and  fruitful  bed 
doth  yet  promise  many  the  like  renovations,  it  is  proper 
and  agreeable  to  be  conversant  not  only  in  the  transitory 
parts  of  good  government,  but  in  those  acts  also  wliich 
are  in  their  nature  permanent  and  perpetual." — Advance- 
ment of  Learning^  Second  Book. 

''3Er.  O  the  heavens ! " 
"  O  the,"  Pronms  of  Formidaries  and  Elegancies. 

"  What  foul  play  had  we  that  we  came  from  thence? 

Or  blessed  was't  we  did? 

Pros.  Both,  both,  my  girl : 

By  foul  play,  as  thou  say'st,  were  we  heaved  thence, 

But  blessedly  holp  hither." 

The  depth  of  the  Poet's  insight,  and  liis  exquisite  por- 
trayal of  one  of  the  subtler  })hases  of  human  nature  might 
here,  as  in  the  past,  wholly  escape  us,  but  for  the  follow- 
ing acute  observation  : 

"  And  he  that   is   holpen,  takes  it  for  a  fortune  and 

*  "  But  if  the  eldest  son  leave  any  issue,  though  he  die  in  the 
life  of  his  fatliev,  tlien  neither  the  second  son  iiov  the  issue  of 
the  eldest  sliall  inherit  the  father's  lands,  but  the  fatlier  there 
shall  he  accounted  to  die  without  heirs,  and  the  laiKl  shall  be 
escheat." — The  Use  of  the  Law. 

"  Of  six  preceeding  ancestors,  that  gem 
Conferrd  hij  tmtament  to  the  seiiitent  issue. 
Hath  it  been  ow'd  and  worn." — Alt's  Weil,  V.,  3. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  23 

thanks  the  times ;  and  he  that  is  hurt,  for  a  wrong,  and 
iinputeth  it  to  the  author." —  Of'  Ituiovations. 

Moreover,  Bacon's  unaffected  delight  in  antithesis  will 
become  manifest,  both  directly  and  incidentally,  in  subse- 
quent citations. 

^^  Mir.  O  my  heart  bleeds 

To  think  o'  the  teen  that  I  have  turned  you  to."  * 

Taken   in   connection    with   other   and   more   striking 

clauses,  such  as  the  following,  one  might  well  surmise  that 

the  Poet  was  master  of  the  secret  of  the  circulation  of  the 

blood : 

"  Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart," 

—  Measure  for  Measure.,  II. ,  4- 

"  But  there,  where  I  have  garner'd  up  my  heart ; 
Where  either  I  must  live,  or  bear  no  life ; 
The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 
Or  else  dries  up."—  Othello,  IV.,  2. 

"Could  I  meet  them 
But  once  a,  day,  it  would  unclog  my  heart 
Of  what  lies  heavy  to 't." —  Cor'wlwnus,  IV.,  2. 

"  As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart." — Julius  Cwsar,  II.,  2. 

"  Or  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy, 
Had  baked  thy  blood,  and  made  it  heavy  —  thick, 
Which,  else,  runs  tickling  up  and  down  the  veins." 

—  King  John,  III.,  3. 

"  Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up 
The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries :" 

—  Loves  Labor  Lost,  IV.,  o.f 

*  Note  the  'turji"  of  the  expiession : 

" — ;  which  have  turned  your  Majesty  to  inestimable  pi'eju- 
dice." — Letter  to  Kinrj  James,  on  his  Estate. 

tThe  ahove  is  an  exemplification  of  a  peculiar  "spiritual" 
pliilosophy  of  man's  constitution,  which  is  given  repeated  and 
unmistakable  development;  in  the  exposition  of  an  occult,  but 


24  FRANCIS    BACON 

Bacon  also  exhibits  this  same  wonderful  knowledge : 
"  Too  continuous  and  copious  an  effusion  of  blood,  such 
as  sometimes  takes  place  in  hemorrhoids,  sometimes  in 
vomiting  of  blood  from  the  opening  or  rupture  of  inner 
veins,  and  sometimes  in  wounds,  causes  speedy  death  ; /br 
the  blood  of  the  veins  supj)Ues  the  hlood  of  the  ai'terles, 
which  again  supplies  the  siyirit."" — History  of  Life  and 
Death. 

"  There  are  two  great  precursors  of  death,  the  one  sent 

thoroughly  consistent  physiology ;  and  of  which  the  following 
are  further  examples : 

"  Moreover,  the  course  of  life  should  if  possible,  be  so  ordered 
that  it  may  have  many  and  various  restorations  :  and  the  spirits 
may  not  grow  torpid  by  perpetual  intercourse  with  the  same 
things." — History  of  Life  and  Death. 
"  My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up." — Tempest,  /.,  2. 

"Nor  I,  my  spirits  are  nimble." — Id.,  II.,  1. 
"  Forth  at  your  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep." — Hamlet,  III,  4.. 

"  But  there  is 
No  danger  in  what  show  of  death  it  makes, 
More  than  the  locking  up  the  spirits  a  time, 
To  be  more  fresh,  reviving." — Cymbeli7ie,  I.,  5. 

"  In  his  Natural  History,  Bacon  observes  regarding  drunk- 
enness: 

"  The  cause  is  for  that  the  spirits  of  tlie  wine  opjivess  the 
spirits  animal,  and  occupate  part  of  the  place  where  they  are ; 
and  so  make  them  weak  to  move.  .  .  .  Besides  they  rob  the 
spirits  animal  of  their  matter,  whereby  they  are  nourished  ; 
for  the  spirits  of  tlie  wine  prey  upon  it  as  well  as  they :  and  so 
they  make  the  spirits  less  supple  and  apt  to  move!"  Also : 
"  Now  the  spirits  are  chiefly  in  the  head  and  cells  of  the  brain." 
And  again,  in  his  History  of  Life  and  Death:  "We  must  be 
cautious  about  spices,  wine,  and  strong  drink,  and  use  tliem 
very  temperately,  with  intervals  of  abstinence ;  .  .  .  For  they 
supply  to  the  spirits  a  heat  not  operative  but  predatory." 

Tiiis  hostility,  or  predatory  action,  is  made  the  very  essence 
of  Cassio's  memorable  apostrophe  in  Othello,  II.,  3: 

"  O  thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine,  if  thou  hast  no  name  to  be 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  25 

from  the  head,  the  other  from  the  heart,  namely,  convul- 
sions and  extreme  labor  of  the  pulse  ;  for  that  deadly  hic- 
cough is  itself  a  kind  of  convulsion.  But  this  laboring  of 
the  pulse  has  a  remarkable  quickness,  because  on  the  point 
of  death  the  heart  trembles  so  violently  that  contraction 
and  dilitatiou  are  almost  confounded.  But  together  with 
this  quickness  there  is  a  feebleness  and  lowness,  and  often 

known  by,  let  us  call  thee  devil!  .  .  .  O  that  men  should  put 
an  enemy  in  their  mouths  to  steal  away  their  brains ! " 

He  further  observes  :  "  The  power  of  opium  to  condense  the 
spirits  is  remarkable ;  for  perhaps  three  grains  will  in  a  short 
time  so  coagulate  them  that  they  cannot  separate,  but  are 
quenched  and  rendered  immovable.  .  .  .  Simple  opiates,  which 
are  likewise  called  narcotics  and  stupefactives,  are  opium  itself, 
which  is  tlie  juice  of  the  poppy,  the  plant  and  seed  of  the  poppy, 
henbane,  maudragora,  hemlock,  tobacco,  and  nightshade." 

"  Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  ow'dst  yesterday." — Othello,  III.,  3. 

"  Cleo.  Ha,  ha  !  — 

Give  me  to  drink  mandragora. 
Cho.r.  Why,  madame? 

Cleo.  That  I  might  sleep  out  this  gi'eat  gap  of  tim(» 
My  Antony  is  away." — Antony  aiid  Cleopatra,  I.,  5. 

"  O,  I  die,  Horatio ; 
The  potent  poison  quite  o'ercrows  my  spirits." 

—  Hamlet,  V.,2. 

"  Upon  my  secure  hour  thy  uncle  stole. 
With  juice  of  cursed  hebenon  in  a  vial. 
And,  in  the  porches  of  mine  ear  did  pour 
The  leperous  distilment ;  whose  effect 
Holds  such  enmity  with  blood  of  man. 
That,  swift  as  quicksilver,  it  courses  throv/jh 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body  ; 
And  with  a  sudden  vigor,  it  doth  posset 
And  curd,  like  eager  dropj)ing  into  milk, 
The  thin  and  wholesome  blood :  so  did  it  mine." 

—Id.,  /.,  5. 


26  FRANCIS    BACON 

a  great  intermission  in  the  pulse,  the  motion  of  the  heart 
failing,  and  being  no  longer  able  to  recover  itself  stoutly 
and  regularly." — Id. 

And  in  metaphor : 

"  And  while  the  life-blood  of  Spain  went  inward  to  the 
heart,  the  outward  limbs  and  members  trembled  and  could 
not  resist." —  Speech  on  the  Suhnidy  Bill. 

" —  That  the  commerce  between  both  nations  be  set 
open  and  free,  so  as  the  commodities  and  provisions  of 
either  may  pass  and  flow  to  and  fro  without  any  stops  or 
obstructions  into  the  veins  of  the  whole  body,  for  the  better 
sustentation  and  comfort  of  all  parts  ;  .  .  .  and  that  as 
well  the  internal  and  vital  veins  of  blood  be  opened  from 
interruption  and  obstruction  in  making  pedigree  and  claim- 
ing by  descent,  as  the  external  and  elemental  veins  of  pasti- 
age  and  commerce." —  Report  on  Union  of  the  liealms. 

" —  and  therefore  might  be  truly  attributed  to  a  secret 
instinct  and  inspiring,  which  many  times  runneth  not  only 
in  the  hearts  of  princes,  but  in  the  pulse  and  veins  of  peo- 
ple, touching  the  happiness  thereby  to  ensue  in  time  to 
come." — Hii<tory  of  Henry  VII. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  attribute  this  to  Bacon's  sagacity, 
for  it  is  sufficiently  explained  by  the  fact  that  Harvey  was 
his  physician.* 

*  "  He  [Harvey]  was  twice  censor  of  the  college  and  in  1615 
was  appointed  Liunelian  lecturer.  In  the  following  year  — 
the  year  of  Shakespeare's  death  —  he  began  his  course  of  lec- 
tures, and  first  brought  forward  his  views  upon  the  movements 
of  the  heart  and  blood.  Meantime  his  practice  increased,  and 
lie  had  the  lord  chancellor  Francis  Bacon,  and  the  earl  of 
Arundel  among  his  patients." — Enc.  Brit.,  Hauvey. 

(It  should  be  noted  also  that  there  is  likewise  the  same  philos- 
ophy of  gravitation  —  prior  to  Newton's  time: 

"But  the  strong  base  and  1)uilding  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  centre  of  tlu;  tarth. 
Drawing  all  things  to  it."— Trail,  and  Cress.,  IV.,  2. 
"Therefore  we  see  that  iron  in  particular  sympathy  luovetli 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  27 

"  Which  is  from  my  remembrance !  " 
The  point,  or  rather  the  occasion  of  this  reference  is 
made  clear  by  the  context  immediately  preceding  the  nar- 
rative, which,  as  if  introduced  for  the  purpose,  unfolds 

to  the  lodestone;  but  yet  it  it  exceed  a  ceitain  quantity,  it  for- 
saketh  the  affection  to  the  lodestone,  and  like  a  good  patriot, 
moveth  to  the  earth,  which  is  the  region  and  country  of  massy 
bodies ;  so  we  may  go  forward,  and  see  that  water  and  massy 
bodies  move  to  the  centre  of  the  earth."  —  Advancement  of 
Learniny,  Second  Book. 

"  if  you  could  hurt, 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths, 
And  will  not  be  uplifted." —  Tempest^  III.^  3. 

"  IJut  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away  ; 
And  what  hath  mass,  or  matter,  by  itself 
Lies,  rich  in  virtue,  and  unmingled." 

—  Troll,  and  Cress.,  I.,  3. 
"  That  idea  to  which  the  human  mind  is  prone,  namely  that 
hai'd  bodies  are  the  densest,  is  to  be  checked  and  corrected. 
.  .  .  Ahundaynce  and  scarcity  of  matter  constitute  the  notions 
of  dense  and  rare,  rightly  understood.  .  .  .  Dense  and  rare 
have  a  close  connection  with  heavy  and  light."  —  History  of 
Dense  and  Hare. 

"  I  love  thee  ;  I  have  spoke  it : 
Now  much  the  quantity,  the  welyht  as  much, 
As  I  do  love  my  father." —  Cymbellne,  IV.,  2. 

"  And  therefore,  as  ivelyht  In  all  motions  Increaseth  force,  so 
do  I  not  marvel  to  see  men  gather  the  greatest  strength  of  argu- 
ment they  can  to  make  good  their  opinions."  —  Debate  on  the 
Kbufs  Rlyht  of  Imjwsltlon. 

"  And,  as  the  thlny  that's  heavy  in  itself, 
Upon  enforcement,  files  with  yreatest  speed, 
So  did  our  men,  heavy  in  Hotspur's  loss. 
Lend  to  this  weight  such  lightness  with  tlieir  fear, 
'F'liat  arrows  fled  not  swifter  towards  their  aim 
Than  did  our  soldiers,  aiming  at  their  safety, 
Fly  from  the  field."—//.  Ilanry  IV.,  /,  /) 


28  FRANCIS    BACON 

the  fundamental  philosophy  of  memory :  that  things  for- 
gotten are  recalled  by  or  through  their  orderly  association 
with  other  things,  whose  images  are  impressed  upon  the 
mind  : 

"  Canst  thou  remember 

A  time  before  we  came  into  this  cell? 

I  do  not  think  thou  canst ;  for  then  thou  wast  not 

Out  three  years  old. 

Mir.  Certainly,  Sir,  I  can. 

Pros.  By  what?  by  any  other  house  or  person? 

Of  anything  the  imfuje  tell  me,  that 

Hath  kept  with  thy  remembrance. 

Mir.  'TisfarofP; 

And  rather  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance 

That  my  remembrance  warrants.     Had  I  not 

Four  or  five  women  once  that  tended  me? 

Pros.   Thou  liad'st,  and  move,  Miranda.     But  how  is  it 

That  this  lives  in  thy  mind?     What  see'st  thou  else 

In  the  dark  backward  abysm  of  time? 

If  thou  remember'st  aught  ere  thou  cam'st  here, 

How  thou  cam'st  here  thoii  may'st. 

Mir.  But  that  I  do  not." 

Turning  to  De  Aiigmentis.,  Fifth  Book,  we  find  the  like 
philosophy  clearly  taught : 

"  The  Art  of  Memory  is  built  upon  two  intentions ;  Pre- 
notiou  and  Emblem.  By  Prenotiou  I  mean  a  kind  of  cut- 
ting off  of  infinity  of  search.  For  when  a  man  desires  to 
recall  anything  into  his  memory,  if  he  have  no  prenotion 
or  perception  of  that  he  seeks,  he  seeks  and  strives  and 
beats  about  hither  and  thither  as  if  in  infinite  space.  But 
if  he  have  some  certain  prenotion,  this  infinity  is  at  once 
cut  off,  and  the  memory  ranges  in  a  narrower  comj)ass  ; 
like  the  hunting  of  a  deer  within  an  enclosure.  And  there- 
fore order  also  manifestly  assists  the  njcmory  ;  for  we  have 
a  prenotion  that  what  wc  are  seeking  must  be  something 
which  agrees  with  order.  .  .  .  Emblem,  on  the  other  hand, 
redu(!es  intellectual  con(H^pti«tns  to  sensible  iiniKjca  ;  for 
an  object  of  sense  always  strikes  tiie  memory  more  forci- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  29 

bly  and  is  more  easily  impressed  upon  it  than  an  object 
of  the  intellect ;  insomuch  that  even  brutes  have  their 
memory  excited  by  sensible  impressions  ;  never  by  intel- 
lectual ones.  And  therefore  you  will  more  easily  remem- 
ber the  image  of  a  hunter  pursuing  a  hare,  of  an  apoth- 
ecary arranging-  his  boxes,  of  a  pedant  making  a  speech, 
of  a  boy  repeating  verses  from  memory,  of  a  player  act- 
ing on  the  stage,  than  the  mere  notions  of  invention,  dis- 
position, elocution,  memory,  and  action.  Other  things 
there  are  Cas  I  said  just  now)  which  relate  to  the  help  of 
memory,  but  the  art  as  it  now  is  consists  of  the  two  above 
stated." 

"  Please  yoii  further. 
Pros.  ]My  l^rother  and  thy  uncle,  called  Antonio,—^ 
I  pray  tlice  mark  me'^'  that  a  brother  should 
Be  so  perfidious ;  —  " 

"  There  is  no  vice  that  doth  so  cover  a  man  with  shame 
as  to  be  foundy«/se  a)id 2^erJidious." — Of  Truth. 

*'  he  v/hom  next  thyself 
Of  all  the  world  I  loved," 

The  following  from  a  letter  to  Essex,  prior  to  his  trea- 
sonable insurrection,  gives  us,  as  in  a  chart,  the  bearings 
of  Bacon's  course : 

"  I  desire  your  Lordship  also  to  think,  that  though 
I  confess  I  love  some  things  much  better  than  I  love 
your  Lordship,  —  as  the  Queen's  service,  her  quiet  and 
contentment,  her  honor,  her  favor,  the  good  of  my  coun- 
try, and  the  like,  —  yet  I  love  few  persons  better  than 
yourself,  both  for  gratitude's  sake,  and  for  your  own  vir- 
tues, which  cannot  hurt  but  by  accident  or  abuse.  Of 
whi(!h  my  good  affection  I  was  ever  ready  and  am  ready 
to  yield  testimony  by  any  good  offices,  but  with  such  res- 

*  "  Or  otherwise  (mark  what  I  say)  " 

—  Charge  to  Grand  Jiwy. 


30  FRANCIS    BACON 

ervations  as  yourself  cannot  but  allow :  for  as  I  was  ever 
sorry  that  your  Lordship  should  fly  with  waxen  wings, 
doubting  Icarus'  fortune,  so  for  the  growing  up  of  your 
own  featliers,  specially  ostrich's,  or  any  other  save  of  a 
bird  of  jn-ey,  no  man  shall  be  more  glad.  And  this  is  the 
axletree  whereupon  I  have  turned  and  shall  turn."  * 

"and  to  liiin  put 
The  manage  of  my  state ; " 

"  For  that  which  concerneth  his  crown  and  state,  it  is 
liuown    .    .    .    that  for  these  last  two  years  his  Majesty 

*  "  strong  as  the  axletree 
On  which  the  heavens  ride." — Troil.  and  Cress.,  /.,  3. 

"  So  as  the  axletree,  whereupon  tlieir  greatness  turneth,  is 
soon  cut  in  two  by  any  that  shall  be  stronger  tlian  they  by  sea." 
—  Conslderatlo7is  touching  a  War  with  Sjmin. 

Whence  the  origin  of  the  figure? 

"  And  assuredly  as  Aristotle  endeavors  to  prove  that  in  all 
motion  there  is  some  point  quiescent ;  and  as  he  very  elegantly 
interprets  the  ancient  fable  of  Atlas,  who  stood  fixed  and  sup- 
ported the  heaven  on  his  shoulders,  to  be  mep.ut  of  the  poles  or 
axletree  of  lieaven,  whereupon  the  conversion  is  accomplished ; 
so  do  men  earnestly  desire  to  have  within  them  an  Atlas  or  axle- 
tree  of  the  thouglits,  by  wliich  the  fluctuations  and  dizziness  of 
the  understanding  may  be  to  some  extent  controlled ;  fearing 
belike  that  their  heaven  should  fall." — De  Aurpnentis,  Fifth 
Book,  Chap.  IV. 

We  begin  to  realize  that  Bacon  was  thoroughly  saturated  with 
"  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients."  He  drank  deep  at  the  fountain 
of  those  waters,  imbibing  their  subtle  spirit,  and  seasoning  his 
writings  with  their  essence;  sometimes  so  deftly  that  though  we 
ai)preciate  the  richness,  we  are  unable,  in  our  ignorance,  to  dis 
tinguish  the  flavor. 

We  catcli  a  glimpse  also  of  his  industry,  for  such  an  absolute 
mastery,  as  the  educated  world  well  knows,  could  only  be  ac- 
quired l)y  years  of  close  and  i)atient  study,  and  that  too,  we 
would  almost  add,  in  early  youth,  during  the  formative  period. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  31 

hath  been  content  to  undergo  the  principal  travel  and 
manage  of  liis  affairs  in  his  own  person." — Memorial  for 
the  King's  Sjieeck. 

"  A  fellow  that  thinks  v/ith  his  magistral ity  and  goose- 
quill  to  give  laws  and  manages  to  crowns  and  sceptres." — 
Charge  Against  Talhot.* 

* '"  Lorenzo,  I  commit  into  your  hands 

The  husbandry  and  manage  of  my  house." 

—  Merchant  of  Venice,  III.,  Jf. 
"  This  might  have  been  prevented  and  made  whole, 
With  very  easy  arguments  of  love ; 
"Which  now  tlie  tnanage  of  two  kingdoms  must 
With  fearful  bloody  issue  arbitrate.'" 

—  King  John,  I.,  1. 

("  And  put  thy  fortune  to  the  arhitriment 
Of  bloody  strokes,  wn^  mortal-staring  v^ar." 
—  Richard  III.,  V.,  S. 
The  expression  of  a  profound  philosophy  : 
"It  is  the  wars  that  are  the  tribunal  seat,  where  the  highest 
rights  and  possessions  are  decided." — Bacon's  Device. 

"Wars  (I  speak  not  of  ambitious,  predatory  v%'-ars)  are  suits 
of  appeal  to  the  tribunal  of  God's  justice,  where  there  are  no 
superiors  on  earth  to  determine  the  cause  :  and  they  are  (as  civil 
pleas  are)  plaints  or  defences."  —  Co7isiderations  touching  a 
War  with  Spain. 

"  Strike  up  the  drums  ;  and  let  the  tongue  of  war 
Plead  for  our  interest,  and  our  being  here." 

—  King  John,  V.,  2. 
"  Will  you  show  our  title  to  the  crown  ? 
If  not  our  swords  shall  ^j^eacZ  it  in  the  field." 

— ///.  Henry  VI.,  II,  1. 
"  In  God's  name,  cheerly  on,  courageous  friends, 
To  leap  the  harvest  of  perpetual  peace, 
By  this  one  bloody  trial  of  sharp  war." 

—  Richard  III,  V.,  2. 
"  So  is  the  equal  poise  of  this  fell  war, 
Here  on  this  molehill  will  I  set  me  down, 
To  whom  God  will,  there  be  tlic  victory." 

— ///.  Henry  VI.,  II.,  5.) 


32  FRANCIS    BACON 

"as  at  that  time 
Through  all  the  sigiiiories  it  Avas  the  first," 

"  This  is  now,  by  the  providence  of  God,  the  fonrth 
time  that  the  line  mid  Kings  of  England  have  had  domin- 
ions and  slgniories  united  unto  them  as  patrimonies,  and 
by  descent  of  blood." —  Case  of  the  Post-Nati  of  Scotland. 

"  And  as  for  the  Duke  of  Parma,  he  was  reasonably  well 
tempted  to  be  true  to  that  enterprise,  by  no  less  pi-omise 
than  to  be  made  a  feudatory  or  beneficiary  king  of  En- 
gland, under  the  signiory  (in  chief)  of  the  Pope,  and  the 
protection  of  the  King  of  Spain." — Considerations  touch- 
ing (I  War  ivith  Sjudn. 

"  And  Prospero  the  prime  duke," 
"  I  have  been  somebody  by  your  Majesty's  singular  and 
undeserved  favor :   even  the  prime  officer  of  your  king- 
dom."— Letter  to  lining  James. 

"  Your  grace  being,  as  it  were,  the  first  born  or  prime 
man  of  the  King's  creatures,  must  in  consequence  ov/e  the 
most  to  his  children  and  generations :  whereof  I  know 
your  noble  heart  hath  far  greater  sense  than  any  man's 
words  can  infuse  into  you." —  Letter  of  Advice  to  Buck- 
ingham.* 

"being  so  reputed 
In  dignity,"! 

*  "  King  Henry.  Have  I  not  made  you 
The  prime  man  of  the  state?  " 

—  Henry  VIII.,  Ill,  2. 
t  The  following  notes  illustrate  the  intimacy  of  both  thought 
and  vocabulary : 

"  For  as  the  works  of  wisdom  surpass  in  dignity  and  power 
the  works  of  strength." —  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients. 

"I  will  take  it  for  a  good  sign  that  you  shall  give  honor  to 

your  dignity,  and  not  your  dignity  to  you." — Letter  to  Villiers. 

"  And  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  ante-natus  and  the 

post-natus  are  in  the  same  degree  in  dignities;  yet  were  they 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  33 

"  and  for  the  liberal  arts,* 
Without  a  parallel : "  f 
If  we  adopt  the  theory  of  the  critics  that  Prospero  rep- 
resents the  Poet  himself  4  the  resemblance  is  here  so  strik- 
ing that  we  are  ahnost  led  to  venture  the  further  conjec- 
ture that  the  whole  play  is  likewise  symbolical  upon 
the  broadest  lines ;  the  contest  between  Prospero  and  his 
brother  typifying  the  conflict  actually  waged  in  the  Poet's 
breast ;  engendered  by  the  attractions  of  power  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  love  of  learning  on  the  other,  and  exempli- 
fied in  the  vicissitudes  of  his  life.  Leaving  this,  however, 
to  the  future,  and  to  the  exegesis  of  merciful  critics,  the 
following  citations  are  perhaps  pertinent 

never  so  in  abilities.  For  no  man  doubts,  but  the  son  of  an 
Earl  or  Baron,  born  before  his  creation  or  call,  shall  inherit  the 
dignity,  as  well  as  the  son  born  after." — Speech  Against  Motion 
for  Union  of  Laws. 

*  "  In  the  course  of  your  study  and  choice  of  books,  you  must 
first  seek  to  have  the  grounds  of  learning,  which  are  the  liberal 
arts." — Aduice  to  Rutland,  on  his  Travels. 

"  Of  all  these  arts  those  which  belong  to  the  eye  and  ear  are 
esteemed  the  most  liberal ;  for  these  two  senses  are  the  purest ; 
and  the  sciences  thereof  are  the  most  learned,  as  having  math- 
ematics like  a  handmaid  in  their  train.  ...  It  has  been  well 
observed  by  some  that  military  arts  flourish  at  the  birth  and 
rise  of  States ;  liberal  arts  when  States  are  settled  and  at  their 
height ;  and  voluptuary  arts  when  they  are  turning  to  decline 
and  ruin." — De  Augmentis,  Fourth  Book,  Chap.  II. 

t ''  For  as  Statuas  and  Pictures  are  dumb  histories,  so  his- 
tories are  speaking  Pictures.  Wherein,  if  my  affection  be  not 
too  great,  or  my  reading  too  small,  I  am  of  this  opinion,  that  if 
Plutarch  were  alive  to  write  lives  by  parallels,  it  would  trouble 
him  for  virtue  and  fortune  both  to  find  for  her  a  parallel  amongst 
women." — Letter  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  referring  to  the  de- 
ceased Queen  Elizabeth. 

I "  For  in  Prospero  shall  we  not  recognize  the  Artist  him- 
self." — Lowell. 

3 


34  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  to  the  present  business 
Which  now 's  upon  us :  " 

"  I  now  come  to  the  Art  of  Empire  or  Civil  Govern- 
ment, which  includes  Economics,  as  a  state  includes  a 
family.  On  this  subject,  as  I  before  said,  I  have  imposed 
silence  on  myself,  though  perhaps  I  might  not  be  entirely 
unqualified  to  handle  such  topics  v/itli  some  skill  and  profit, 
as  being  one  who  has  had  the  benefit  of  long  experience, 
and  who,  by  your  Majesty's  most  gracious  favor,  without 
any  merit  of  his  own,  has  risen  through  so  many  grada- 
tions of  office  and  honor  to  the  highest  digmtij  in  the  realm 
and  borne  the  same  for  four  whole  years ;  .  .  .  and  who 
also,  besides  other  ar^s,  has  spent  much  tiu>e  in  the  study 
of  laws  and  histories." — De  Augmentis.,  Eighth  Book. 

"  Seeing  now,  most  excellent  King,  that  my  little  bark, 
such  as  it  is,  has  sailed  round  the  whole  circumference  of 
the  old  and  neio  world  of  sciences  (with  what  success  and 
fortune  it  is  for  posterity  to  decide),  what  remains  but 
that  having  at  length  finished  my  course  I  should  pay  my 
vows." — De  Augmentis.,  Ninth  Book,  Chap.  IX. 

"those  being  all  my  study, 
The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother,* 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,"  f 
"  Not  however  that  learning  admires  or  esteems  this 
architecture  of  fortune  otherwise  than  as  an  inferior  work. 
For  no  man's  fortune  can  be  an  end  worthy  of  the  gift 
of  being  that  has  been  given  him  by  God ;   and  often  the 

*  "  II  I  cast  part  of  my  burden,  I  shall  be  more  stronj^  and 
delivre  to  bear  the  rest." — Note  for  Interview  with  the  King. 

t  "Surely  I  think  no  man  could  ever  more  truly  say  of  him- 
self with  the  Psalmist  than  I  can,  'My  soul  hath  been  a  stranger 
in  her  pilgrimage.'  So  I  seem  to  have  my  conversation  among 
the  ancients  more  than  among  those  with  whom  I  live,  and  why 
should  1  not  likewise  converse  rather  with  the  absent  than  the 
present,  and  make  my  friendships  by  choice  and  election,  rather 
than  suffer  them,  as  the  manner  is,  to  be  settled  by  accident?" 
— Letter  to  Casauhon. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  35 

worthiest  men  abandon  their  fortunes  willingly,  that  they 
may  have  leisure  for  higher  pursuits." — De,  Au(/me7itis, 
Eighth  Book,  Chap.  II. 

'•  My  nature  can  take  no  evil  ply  ;  but  I  will,  by  God's 
assistance,  with  this  disgrace  on  my  fortune,  and  yet  with 
that  comfort  of  the  good  opinion  of  so  many  honorable  and 
worthy  persons,  retire  myself,  with  a  couple  of  men,  to 
Cambridge,  and  there  spend  my  life  in  my  studies  and 
contemplations  without  looking  back." — Letter  to  Essex, 
in  1594. 

"  being  transported 
And  rapt  in  secret  studies." 

"  Amongst  which  (jf  affection  for  learning  transj)ort 
me  not)  there  is  not  any  more  noble  or  more  worthy  than 
the  further  endowment  of  the  world  with  sound  and  fruit- 
ful knowledge." — De  Augmentlsy  Second  Book,  Dedica- 
tion. 

"  Let  those  who  distrust  their  own  powers  observe  my- 
self, one  who  have  amongst  my  contemporaries  been  the 
most  engaged  in  public  business,  who  are  not  very  strong 
in  health  (which  causes  a  great  loss  of  time),  and  am  the 
first  explorer  of  this  course,  following  the  guidance  of 
none,  7ior  even  communicating  my  thoughts  to  a  single  in- 
dividual;  yet  having  once  firmly  entered  in  the  right  way, 
and  submitting  the  powers  of  my  mind  to  things,  I  have 
somewhat  advanced  (as  I  make  bold  to  think)  the  matter 
I  now  treat  of." — Novum  Organum,  Book  I.,  113. 

We  now  pass,  in  transition,  into  the  counter  realm  of 
statescr?it  and  policy,  governed  by  laws  of  its  own,  taught 
by  experience.  And  here,  as  by  a  master  hand,  the  very 
springs  of  action  are  laid  bare  before  us,  so  that  we  may 
even  discern  the  peculiar  antithesis  inherent  in  their  move- 
ment; for  as  Bacon  profoundly  observes,  in  his  Essay, O/' 
Empire^  "  To  speak  now  of  the  true  temper  of  empire,  it 
is  a  thing  rare  and  hard  to  keep  ;  for  both  temper  and  dis- 
temper consist  of  contraries  ;  but  it  is  one  thing  to  mingle 


36  FRANCIS    BACON 

contraries,  another  to  interchange  them,"— the  meaning 
of  which  will  clearly  appear  as  the  theme  is  developed. 

"Thy  false  uncle  — 

Dost  thou  attend  me? 
Mir.  Sir,  most  heedfully. 

Pros.  Being  once  j^erfected  =''  how  to  grant  suits, 

How  to  deny  them," 

"  You  are  a  new  risen  star,  and  the  eyes  of  all  men  are 
upon  you  :  let  not  your  own  negligence  make  you  fall  like  a 
meteor.  .  .  .  And  in  respect  of  the  suitors  which  shall  at- 
tend you,  there  is  nothing  will  bring  you  more  honor  and 
more  ease  than  to  do  them  what  right  in  justice  you  may, 
and  with  as  much  speed  as  you  may  :  for,  believe  me,  Sir, 
next  to  the  obtaining  of  the  suit,  a  speedy  and  gentle  de- 
nial (when  the  case  will  not  bear  it)  is  the  most  acceptable 
to  suitors." — Letter  of  Advice  to  VilUers. 

"  But  your  Majesty  is  still  in  a  straight,  that  either  your 
means  or  your  mind  must  suffer.  For  to  yrant  all  suits 
were  to  undo  yourself,  or  your  people.  To  deny  all  suits 
were  to  see  never  a  contented  face." — Letter  to  Iving 
James. 

"  whom  to  advance,"  f  and  whom 


*  "It  resteth  tliat  I  express  unto  your  majesty  my  great  joy, 
in  your  honoring  and  advancing  tliis  gentleman  ;  .  .  .  Only 
your  Majesty's  school  (wherein  he  hath  already  so  well  profited, 
as  in  this  entrance  upon  the  stage,  being  the  time  of  greatest 
danger,  he  hath  not  committed  any  manifest  error),  will  add 
perfection^ —  to  your  Majesty's  comfort  and  the  great  content- 
ment of  your  people." — Letter  to  King  James,  regarding  Vil- 
Uers. 

t ''  And  in  places  of  moment,  rather  make  able  and  honest 
men  yours,  than  advance  those  that  are  otherwise  be(;ause  they 
are  yours." — Letter  to  VilUers. 

"  The  knot  which  is  to  be  tied  for  his  reputation  must  either 


AND    HIS    STIAKESrEARE.  37 

To  trasli  for  overtopping, — " ''' 

"He  (Henry  VII.}  kept  a  straight  liand  on  his  nobility, 
and  chose  rather  to  advance  clergymen  and  lawyers,  which 
were  more  obsequious  to  him,  but  had  less  interest  in  the 
people ;  which  made  for  his  absoluteness,  but  not  for  his 
safety.  .  .  .  He  was  not  afraid  of  an  able  man,  as  Lewis 
the  Eleventh  was  ;  but  contrariwise,  he  was  served  by  the 
ablest  men  that  were  to  be  found ;  without  which  his  af- 
fairs could  not  have  prospered  as  they  did.  .  .  .  And  as 
he  chose  v/ell,  so  he  held  them  up  well ;  for  it  is  a  strange 
thing,  that  though  he  were  a  dark  prince,  and  infmitt^ly 
suspicious,  and  his  times  full  of  secret  conspiracies  and 
troubles,  yet  in  twenty- four  years'  reign,  he  never  jtjw^  doivn 
or  discomjwsed  counsellor,  or  near  servant,  save  only  Stan- 
ley, the  lord  chamberlain.  .  .  .  He  was  a  prince,  sad,  seri- 
ous, and  full  of  thoughts  and  secret  observations,  and  full 

be  advancing  or  depressing  of  persons  or  putting  by  or  forward- 
ing of  actions." — Notes  for  Advice  to  Buckingham.. 

"I  should  hope,  that  as  your  Majesty  hath  of  late  won  hearts 
by  depressing,  you  should  in  this  lose  no  hearts  by  advancing : 
for  I  see  your  people  can  better  skill  of  concretum  than  ab- 
stractum,  and  that  the  waves  of  their  affections  flow  rather  after 
persons  than  things." — Letter  to  King  James. 

*  "  There  is  use  also  of  ambitious  men  in  pulling  down  the 
greatness  of  any  subject  that  overtops  ;  as  Tiberius  used  Marco 
in  the  pulling  down  of  Sejanus.  ...  As  for  the  pulling  of  them 
down,  if  the  affairs  require  it,  and  it  may  be  done  with  safety 
suddenly,  the  only  way  is  the  interchange  continually  of  favors 
and  disgraces,  whereby  they  may  not  know  what  to  expect,  and 
be,  as  it  were,  in  a  wood." — Of  Ambition. 

"And  the  like  diligence  was  used  in  the  age  before  by  that 
league  (wherewith  Guicciardine  beginnethhis  story,  and  maketh 
it,  as  it  were,  the  calendar  of  the  good  days  of  Italy),  which  was 
contracted  between  Ferdinando,  King  of  Naples,  Lorenzo  of 
Medici,  Potentate  of  Florence  and  Ludovico  Sfortza,  Didce  of 
Milan,  designed  chiefly  against  the  growing  power  of  the  Vene- 
tians ;  but  yet  so,  as  the  confederates  had  a  perpetual  eye  one 
upon  another,  that  none  of  them  should  overtoil." — Considera- 
tions Touching  a  War  with  Spain. 


38  FRANCIS    BACON 

of  notes  and  moniorials  of  liis  own  hand,  especially  toiicJi- 
ino^  persons  ;  as,  ii^lKrin,  to  employ,  whom  to  reward,  inhnm 
to  inquire  of,  whom  to  beware  of,  what  were  the  depend- 
encies, what  were  the  factions,  and  the  like." — History  of 
Henry  VII.* 

"new  created 
The  creatures  that  were  mine,  I  say,  or  changed  them, 
Or  else  new  formed  them;" 

"  And  lastly,  when  all  these  means,  or  any  of  them,  have 
new  framed  or  formed  human  laiN,  then  doth  custom  and 
habit  corroborate  and  confirm  all  the  rest." — Helps  for 
the  Intellectual  Powers.^ 

"having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  office," 
"  An  instrument  in  tuning." — Pronms  of  Formidarles 
and  Elegancies. 

And  in  another  sense :  "  This  year  also  the  King  en- 
tered into  a  league  with  the  Italian  potentates  for  the  de- 

*  "  And  for  those  she  advanced  to  places  of  trust,  slie  kept 
such  a  tight  rein  upon  them,  and  so  distributed  her  favors,  that 
slie  held  each  of  them  under  the  greatest  obligation  and  concein 
to  please  her,  whilst  she  always  remained  mistress  of  herself." 
— Memory  of  Elizabeth. 

t  "  Custom  hath  made  it  in  him  a  property  of  easiness." 

— Hamlet,  V.,  1. 
"  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man." 

— Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  V.,  4- 
"  That  monster  custom,  who  all  sense  doth  eat  — 
Of  habits  evil  —  is  angel  yet  in  this,  ■ — 
That  to  the  use  of  actions  fair  and  good 
He  likewise  gives  a  frock  or  livery, 
That  aptly  is  put  on.      Refrain  to-night : 
And  that  shall  lend  a  kind  of  easiness 
To  the  next  abstinence  ;  the  next  more  easy ; 
For  use  can  almost  change  the  stamp  of  nature." 

— Hamlet,  III.,  4- 


AND    II  IS    SHAKESPEARE.  39 

fense  of  Italy  against  France  ;  for  King  Charles  had  con- 
quered the  realm  of  Naples,  and  lost  it  again,  in  a  kind  of 
felicity  of  a  dream.  He  passed  the  whole  length  of  Italy 
without  resistance  ;  so  that  it  was  true  which  Pope  Alex- 
ander was  wont  to  say,  '  That  the  Frenchmen  came  into 
Italy  with  chalk  in  their  hands,  to  mark  up  their  lodgings, 
rather  than  with  swords  to  fight.'  *  He  likewise  entered 
and  won,  in  effect,  the  whole  kingdom  of  Naples  itself, 
without  striking  stroke.  But  presently  thereupon  he  did 
commit  and  multiply  so  many  errors,  as  was  too  great  a 
task  for  the  best  fortune  to  overcome.  He  gave  no  con- 
tentment to  the  barons  of  Naples,  of  the  faction  of  the 
Angeovines  ;  but  scattered  his  rewards  according  to  the 
mercenery  appetites  of  some  about  him.  .  .  .  He  fell  too 
soon  at  differences  with  Ludovico  Sfortza,  who  was  the  man 
that  carried  the  keys  which  brought  him  in  and  shut  him 
out." — History  of  Henry  VII. 

"set  all  hearts  i'  the  state 
To  what  tune  pleased  his  ear; " 

"  It  is  my  desire  that  if  any  the  King's  business  either  of 
honor  or  profit  shall  pass  the  house,  it  may  be  not  only 
with  external  prevailing  but  with  satisfaction  of  the  inward 

*  Later  in  the  play  [Act  V.,  Scene  1],  when  all  were  amicably 
reconciled,  Gonzalo  says: 

"  Look  down,  you  gods, 
And  on  this  couple  drop  a  blessed  crown ! 
For  it  is  you  that  have  cluiUtd  forth  the  way 
Which  brought  us  hither." 
Bacon  repeats  Pope  Alexander's  remark  at  least  three  times  ; 
in  T)e  Axujmentis,  Third  Book,  Chap.  VI.,  continuing :   "  so  I 
like  better  that  entry  of  truth  which  comes  peaceably,  as  with 
chalk  to  mark  up  those  minds  which  are  capable  to  lodge  and 
harbor  such  a  guest,  than  that  which  forces  its  way  with  pug- 
nacity and  contention." 

It  is  perhaps  significant  that  the  commentators  upon  the  play, 
for  want  of  the  key,  have  failed  to  comprehend  the  now  clear 


40  FRANCIS    BACON 

man.  For  in  consent  where  tongue -strings  not  lieart- 
strings  make  the  music,  that  harmony  may  end  in  discord. 
.  .  .  When  Vespasian  came  out  of  Judea  towards  Italy 
to  receive  the  empire,  as  he  passed  by  Alexandria  he  spake 
with  Apollonius,  a  man  much  admired,  and  asked  him  a 
question  of  state  :  '  What  was  Nero's  fall  or  overthrow  ? ' 
Apollonius  answered  again,  '  Nero  could  tune  the  harp 
well :  but  in  government  he  always  either  wound  up  the 
pins  too  high  and  strained  the  strings  too  far,  or  let  them 
down  too  low  and  slackened  the  strings  too  much.'  Here 
we  see  the  difference  between  regular  and  able  princes  and 
irregular  and  incapable,  Nerva  and  Nero.  The  one  tem- 
pei-s  and  mingles  the  sovereignty  with  the  lil)erty  of  the 
subject  wisely  ;  and  the  other  doth  interchange  it  and  vary 
it  unequally  and  absurdly." — Sjoeech  on  the  Kincfs  Mes- 
sages. 

"  Until  your  Majesty  have  tuned  your  instrument  you 
will  have  no  harmony.  I,  for  my  part,  think  it  a  thing  in- 
estimable for  your  Majesty's  safety  and  service  that  you 
once  part  with  your  parliament  with  love  and  reverence." 

"  That  it  doth  well  in  church  music  when  the  greatest 
part  of  the  hymn  is  sung  by  one  voice,  and  then  the  quire 
at  times  falls  in  sweetly  and  solemnly,  and  that  the  same 
harmony  sorteth  well  in  monarchy  between  the  King  and 
his  Parliament." — Letters  to  King  James. 

"  This  I  apply  to  the  King's  business,  which  surely  I 
revolve  most  when  I  am  least  in  action  ;  .  .  .  But  still  it 
must  be  remembered,  that  the  stringing  of  the  harp,  nor 
the  tuning  of  it,  will  not  serve,  except  it  be  well  played 
on  from  time  to  time." — Letter  to  B^icldngham. 

"  If  a  man  so  temper  his  actions,  as  in  some  one  of  them 

meaning  of  this  artificial  metaphor.  (The  same  figure  reap- 
pears in  unmistakable  terms  in  Henry  VIII.,  I.,  1 : 

"  For,  being  not  pvopp'd  by  anoestory,  whose  grace 
Chalks  successors  their  way  ;  ") 


AND    IIIS    SHAKESPEARE.  41 

he  doth  content  every  faction  or  combination  of  people,  the 
music  will  be  the  fuller." — Of  Honor  and  Reputation.* 

"  tiiat  now  lie  was 
Tlio  ivy  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk,"  f 
And  siick'd  my  verdure  out  on't  — " 
"  Nor  is  it  without  a  mystery  tliat  the  ivy  was  sacred  to 
Bacchus,  and  this  for  two  reasons  :  first,  because  ivy  is  an 
evergreen,  or  flourishes  in  the  winter ;  and  secondly,  be- 
cause it  winds  and  creeps  about  so  many  things,  as  trees, 
walls  and  buildings,  and  raises  itself  above  them.   .  .   . 
And  for  the  second,  the  predominant  passion  of  the  mind 

*  We  cannot  vvitliliold  two  other  ornate  but  graceful  variations 
of  this  musical  theme : 

"  And  when  your  Majesty  could  raise  me  no  higher,  it  was 
your  grace  to  illustrate  me  with  beams  of  honor ;  first  making 
me  Baron  Verulam,  and  now  Viscount  St.  Albans.  So  this  is 
the  eighth  rise  or  reach,  a  diapason  in  music,  even  a  good  num- 
ber and  accord  for  a  close." — Letter  to  King  James. 

"  At  length  therefore  having  arrived  at  some  pause  and  look- 
ing back  into  those  things  which  I  have  passed  through,  this 
treatise  of  mine  seems  to  me  not  unlike  those  sounds  and  pre- 
ludes which  musicians  make  while  they  are  tuning  their  instru- 
ments, which  produce  indeed  a  harsh  and  unpleasing  sound  to 
the  ear,  but  tend  to  make  the  music  sweeter  afterwards.  And 
thus  have  I  intended  to  employ  myself  in  tuning  the  harp  of  the 
muses  and  reducing  it  to  perfect  harmony,  that  thereafter  the 
strings  may  be  touched  by  a  better  hand  or  a  better  quill." — 
De  Auffmentis,  Eighth  Book,  Chap.  III. 

t  "  By  all  means  it  is  to  be  procured  that  the  trunk  of  Nebu- 
chadnezzar's tree  of  monarchy  be  great  enough  to  bear  the 
branches  and  the  houghs."— Of  the  True  Greatness  of  King- 
doms. 

"  Your  princehj  eye  was  wont  to  meet  with  any  motion  that 
was  made  on  the  relieving  part." — Letter  to  the  King. 

"Were  gracious  in  those  princely  eyes  of  thine." — Titus 
And.,  I.,  2. 


42  FRANCIS    BACON 

throws  itself,  like  the  ivy,  round  all  hnuiun  action:?,  en- 
twines all  our  resolutions,  and  })erpetually  adheres  to,  and 
mixes  itself  among,  or  even  overtops  them." —  MlsJon/  of 
the  Ancients.^- 

"  Custom  like  an  ivy  which  grows  and  clasps  upon  the 
tree  of  commerce." — JVotcs  of  Speech  on  the  Kimfs 
ll'ujht  of  Imposition. 

"  But  it  was  ordained  that  this  vnndhig  ivy  of  a  Plaii- 
tacjenet  should  hill  the  true  tree  itself — History  of 
Henry  VII. 

"  Thou  attend'st  not. 
3Iir.  O,  good  sir,  I  do." 

In  this  truly  "  speaking  picture,"  the  arena  of  action 
has  been  opened  to  our  view  and  the  relative  positions  of 
the  as  yet  uncontending  forces  fully  disclosed.  And  now 
we  are  about  to  be  taken,  as  it  v/ere,  behind  the  scenes, 
and  into  the  very  "  counsels,"  that  we  may  witness  the  in- 
ception of  the  struggle,  its  genesis,  and  even  the  develop- 
ment of  the  causes  producing  it. 

It  is  pregnant  with  instruction,  which  may  be  delivered 
to  us,  if  we  but  follow  Bacon's  pertinent  advice  in  the 
study  of  history : 

"  In  the  story  of  France,  you  have  a  large  and  pleasant 
field  in  the  lives  of  their  kings  to  observe  their  alliances 
and  successions,  their  conquests  and  their  wars,  especially 
with  us ;  their  counsels,  their  treaties,  and  all  rules  and 
examples  of  experience  and  wisdom  ;  which  may  be  lights 
and  remembrances  to  you  hereafter  to  judge  all  occur- 
rences at  home  and  abroad." — Letter  of  Advice  to  Riit- 
land  on  his  Travels. 

And  he  likewise  condemns  Epitomies,   "  where   com- 

*  "  So  doth  the  woodbine  the  sweet  honeysuckle 
Gently  entwist;  the  female  ivy  so 
Enrings  the  barky  fingers  of  tlie  elm." 

— Midsummer  Niylifs  Dream,  IV.,  1. 


AND    Ills    SHAKESPEARE.  43 

monly  in  matter  of  art  tlio  positions  are  set  down  without 
tlieir  proofs,  aiul  in  matter  of  story  tlie  tilings  done  with- 
out the  counsels  and  circumstances,  which  indeed  are  a 
thousand  times  more  in  use  than  the  examples  them- 
selves."— Advice  to  Grevillc  on  His  Studies. 

^^Fros.  I  pray  thee,  mark  me,'"' 

I  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicated 
To  closeness." 

"  There  be  three  degrees  of  this  hiding  and  veiling  of 
a  man's  self ;  the  first,  closeness,  reservation,  and  secrecy  ; 
when  a  man  leaveth  himself  without  observation,  or  with- 
out hold  to  be  taken,  what  he  is." — Of  Shmdation  and 
Dissimulation. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  forgotten  what  Comineus  observeth  of 
his  first  master,  Duke  Charles  the  Hardy,  namely,  that  he 
would  communicate  his  secrets  with  none  ;  and  least  of  all, 
those  secrets  which  troubled  him  most.  Whereupon  he 
goeth  on  and  saith,  that  towards  his  latter  time  that  close- 
ness did  impair  and  a  little  perish  his  undertakings. 
Surely  Comineus  might  have  made  the  same  judgment 
also,  if  it  had  pleased  him,  of  his  second  master,  Lewis 
the  Eleventh,  whose  closeness  was  indeed  his  tormentor." 
—  Of  Friendship. 

"  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that  which,  but  by  being  so  retired, 
O'er-prized  all  popular  rate," 
"  Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  abil- 
ity.    Their  chief  nse  for  delight  is  in  privateness  and  re- 
tiring."—  Of  Studies. 

The  critics  have  been  in  somewhat  of  a  quandary  as  to 
the  meaning  of  the  text.     The  exquisite  delicacy  of  its  sig- 

*  "  And  to  say  truth,  if  one  mark  it  well,  this  was  in  all  mem- 
ory the  main  piece  of  wisdom  in  strong  and  prudent  counsels." 
— Considerations  Touching  a  War  ivith  Spain 


44  FRANCIS    BACON 

nifieanoe,  its  classical  origin,  and  its  pertinency  are  all 
however  clearly  nnfokled  in  tlie  following,  from  the  Ad- 
vancement  of  Learning^  Book  I.: 

"  As  for  retirement,  it  is  a  theme  so  common  to  extol  a 
])rivate  life,  not  taxed  with  sensuality  and  sloth,  for  the 
liberty,  the  pleasure  and  the  freedom  from  indignity  it 
affords,  that  every  one  praises  it  well,  such  an  agreement 
it  has  to  the  nature  and  apprehensions  of  mankind.  This 
may  be  added,  that  learned  men,  forgotten  in  states  and 
not  living  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  are  like  the  images  of 
Cassius  and  Brutus  at  the  funeral  of  Junia,  which  n'ot  be- 
ing represented  as  many  others  were,  Tacitus  said  of  them 
that,  '■They  outshone  the  rest,  because  not  seen.'  " 

"ill  my  false  brother 
Awaked  an  evil  nature:  " 

"  But  let  no  man  trust  his  victory  over  his  nature  too 
far ;  for  nature  will  lie  hiried  a  great  time,  and  yet  revive 
upon  the  occasion  or  temptation." —  Of  Natiire  in  Men. 
(See  Angelo  in  Aleasurefor  Measure.) 

"  At  this  time  the  King's  estate  was  very  prosperous; 
secured  by  the  amity  of  Scotland,  strengthened  by  that  of 
Spain,  cherished  by  that  of  Burgundy,  all  domestic  trou- 
bles quenched,  and  all  noise  of  war,  like  a  thunder  afar 
off,  going  upon  Italy.  Wherefore  nature,  which  many 
times  is  happily  contained  and  refrained  by  some  bands 
of  fortune,  began  to  take  place  in  the  King ;  carrying,  as 
with  a  strong  tide,  his  affections  and  thoughts  into  the 
gathering  and  heaping  up  of  treasure."  —  Illstory  of 
Henry  VII. 

''and  my  trust, 
Like  a  good  2)arent,'''  did  beget  of  liim 
A  falsehood," 

*  This  remarkable  expression  seems  fully  warranted  by  Bacon's 
close  observation : 

'<  Revolve  in  histories  the  memories  of  happy  men,  and  you 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  45 

"  He  (Cupid)  is  introduced  v/ithout  a  parent,  that  is  to 
say  without  a  cause ;  for  the  cause  is  as  the  parent  of  the 
effect ;  and  it  is  a  familiar  and  almost  continual  figure  of 
speech  to  denote  cause  and  effect  as  parent  and  child." — 
On  Princijiles  and  Origins.* 

"  For  corruptio  ufiius  generatio  alterius  holds  as  well 
in  arguments  as  in  nature.  The  destruction  of  an  objec- 
tion begets  a  proof." — Case  of  the  Post  Nati  of  Scotland. 

"  There  is  no  pound  profit  which  redoundeth  to  your 
Majesty  in  this  course,  but  induceth  and  hegettetli  three 
pound  damage  upon  your  subjects,  besides  the  discontent- 
ment."— Speech  to  King  James  Touching  Purveyors. 

"  Another  point  was,  that  I  always  vehemently  dis- 
suaded him  from  seeking  greatness  by  a  military  depend- 
ence, or  by  a  popular  dependence,  as  that  which  would 
breed  in  the  Queen  jealousy,  in  himself  presumption,  and 
in  the  state  perturbation." — Apology  Concerning  the  Earl 
of  Essex. 

" — glozing  then,  that  because  he  had  heard  that  by 

shall  not  find  any  of  rare  felicity  but  either  he  died  childless,  or 
his  line  spent  soon  after  his  death,  or  else  he  was  unfortunate 
in  his  children.  Should  a  man  have  to  be  slain  by  his  vassals, 
as  the  posthuimis  of  Alexander  the  Great  was  ?  or  to  call  them 
his  imposthumes,  as  Augustus  Csesar  called  his?  Peruse  the 
catalogue :  Cornelius  Sylla,  Julius  Caesar,  Flavins  Vespasianus, 
Severus,  Constantinus  the  Great,  and  many  more." — Discourse 
in  Praise  of  the  Queen. 

*"Then  let  them  anatomize  Regan;  see  what  breeds  about 
her  heart.  Is  there  any  cause  in  nature  that  makes  these  hard 
hearts?  " — King  Lear,  III.,  6. 

(  "  To  make  an  anatomy  of  it,  and  shew  the  lines  and  parts, 
which  might  serve  to  give  a  light,  though  not  delight." —  Con.- 
ference  on  the  Question  of  Laiv. ) 

"  My  brain  I  '11  prove  the  female  to  my  soul ; 
My  soul  the  father :   and  these  two  beget 
A  generation  of  stillhreeding  thoughts." 

—  Richard  II.,  V.,  5. 
[See,  please,  infra,  pages  60  and  80.] 


46  FRANCIS    BACON 

strict  exposition  of  law  all  treasons  of  rebellion  did  tend 
to  the  destruction  of  the  King's  person,  it  might  breed 
a  buzz  in  the  rebels'  heads,  and  so  discourage  them  from 
coming  in." — Declaration  against  Essex.*  (For  the  like 
argumentative  "  gioziug,"  see  Troil.  and  Cress.,  IL,  2.') 

*  "  Now  this  follows, 
(Which,  as  I  take  it,  is  a  kind  of  2'^W^Py 
To  the  old  dam,  treason)  —  Charles  the  Emperor, 
Under  pretence  to  see  the  queen  his  aunt, 
(For,  'twas,  indeed,  his  color ;  hut  he  came 
To  whisper  Wolsey,)  here  makes  visitation: 
His  fears  were,  that  the  interview  hetv/ixt 
England  and  France  might,  through  their  amity, 
Breed  him  some  prejudice." — Henry  VIII.,  I.,  1. 
[See  infra,  page  71.] 

"  Uhjss.  I  have  a  young  conception  in  my  hrain, 
Be  you  my  time  to  bring  it  to  some  shape. 
Nest.  What  is 't? 
Uhjss.  This  'tis: — 

Blunt  wedges  rive  hard  knots :  the  seeded  pride 
That  hath  to  this  maturity  blown  up 
In  rank  Achilles,  must  or  now  be  cropp'd 
Or,  shedding,  breed  a  nursery  of  like  evil, 
To  overbulk  us  all." —  Troil.  and  Cress.,  I..  3. 
(Bacon  was  especially  prolific  in  metaphors  developed  from 
natui-e's  "nursery":      "He  entered  into  due  consideration  as 
well  how  to  weed  out  the  partakers  of  the  former  rebellion,  as 
to  kill  the  seeds  of  the  like  in  time  to  come."     "  But  that  the 
true  way  is,  to  stop  the  seeds  of  sedition  and  rebellion  in  their 
beginnings."      "  But  these  blossoms  of  unripe  marriages  v/oro 
but  kindly  wishes  and  the  airs  of  loving  entertainment."   "And 
tliis  was  but  a  summer  fruit,  which  they  thought  was  alnios!:. 
ripe,  and  would  be  soon  gathered." — History  of  Henry  VI  f. 
"No  mortal  calamity  is  more  moving  and  afflicting,  than  to  seu 
the  flower  of  virtue  cropped  before  its  time." — Wisdom  of  the 
Ancients. 

"  A  sweeter  and  a  lovelier  gentleman, 
Framed  in  the  prodigality  of  nature, 
The  spacious  world  cannot  again  afford : 
And  will  she  yet  abase  her  eyes  on  me 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  47 

"  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was ; " 
"  — :  always  understood,  that  if  you  can  reconcile  all 
the  words,  and  make  no  falsity,  that  is  a  case  quite  out  of 
this  rule,  which  hath  place  only  where  there  is  a  direct 
contrariety  or  falsity  not  to  be  reconciled  to  this  rule." — 
Maxims  of  the  Law^  Regula  XXIV. 

And,  illustrating  also  his  delight  in  playing  with  words : 
"  And  yet  they  say  that  an  use  is  but  a  nimble  and 
light  thing ;  and  now,  contrariwise,  it  seemeth  to  be 
weightier  than  anything  else :  for  you  cannot  weigh  it  up 
to  raise  it,  neither  by  deed  nor  deed  enrolled,  without  the 
weight  of  a  consideration." —  Heading  on  the  Statute  of 
Uses.* 

That  C7'02)pd  the  golden  prime  of  this  sweet  prince," 
—  Richard  III.,  I.,  2.) 
"  Seldom  but  that  pity  begets  you  a  good  opinion,  and  that 
opinion  a  mere  profit." — Pericles,  IV.,  3. 

("  For  lies  are  sufficient  to  breed  opinion,  and  opinion  brings 
on  substance." —  Of  Vain  Glory.) 

"  Scroop.  Let  him  be  punished,  sovereign  ;  lest  example 
Breed,  by  his  suffrance,  more  of  such  a  kind. 
K.  Hen.  If  little  faults,  proceeding  on  distemper. 
Shall  not  be  wink'd  at,  how  shall  we  stretch  our  eye 
When  capital  crimes,  chew'd,  swallow'd  and  digested, 
Appear  before  us?" — Henry  V.,  II.,  3. 
("  Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and 
some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested." — Of  Studies.) 
"  Know  that  this  gold  must  coin  a  stratagem. 
Which  cunningly  effected,  will  beget 
A  very  excellent  piece  of  villainy." 

—  Tit.  Andron.,  II.,  3. 
*  " — purse  and  brain  both  empty  ;  the  brain  the  heavier  for 
being  too  light,  the  purse  too  light  being  drawn  of  heaviness ; 
O !  of  this  contradiction  you  shall  now  be  tpiit."  —  Cymbeline, 

V.,4- 

Tiie  following  are  a  couple  of  like  examples  from  a  single 

Letter  to  Queen  Eliraibeth : 


48  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  As  for  profit,  there  appoaretli  a  direct  contrm^icty  be- 
tween that  and  all  three  courses." — Gesta  Grayorum. 

"  Without  it  there  can  be  no  fortitude,  for  all  other 
darings  come  of  fury,  and  fury  is  a  passion,  and  passions 
ever  turn  into  their  contraries,  and  therefore  the  most 
furious  men,  when  their  first  blaze  is  spent,  be  commonly 
the  most  fearful." —  Advice  to  Rutland  on  his  Travels,* 

"  I  think  I  would  rest  senseless  of  that  wherein  others  Iiave 
se7ise  restless,  and  that  is  of  my  particular  estate  and  fortune. 
.  .  .  Thirdly,  your  Majesty  may  by  this  redemption  (for  so 
may  I  truly  call  it)  free  me  from  the  contempt  of  the  contempt- 
ible, that  measure  a  man  by  his  estate." 

And  in  the  same  vein: 

"  or  to  dissever  so 
Our  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 
A  senseless  help,  when  help  past  sense  we  deem." 

—  AlVs  Well,  II.,  1. 
"  Above  the  sense  of  sense :  so  sensible 
Seemeth  their  conference." — L.  L.  L.,  V.,  2. 

"  I  think  you  may  use  all  the  places  of  logic  against  his  plac- 
ing."—  Letter  to  Essex. 

"  Open  your  mouth :  this  will  shake  your  shaking,  I  can  tell 
you,  and  that  soundly." —  Tempest,  II.,  2. 

"  For  the  greatness  of  the  fault,  I  shall  not  insist  upon  it,  it 
liath  already  been  so  soundly  sounded." — Speech  on  Telvertons 
Case. 

''  To  England  will  I  steal,  and  there  I'll  steal." — Henry  V., 
v.,  2. 

"  Let  me  know  of  such  roots,  and  I  will  root  them  out  of  the 
country." — Speech  to  the  Juclyes. 

"  All  this  nuist  be  because  you  can  pleasure  men  at  pleasure." 
—  Letter  to  Sir  Vincent  Skinner. 

"  And  if  what  pleases  him  shall  pleasure  you." — ///.,  Henry 
VL,  III.,  2. 

"  This  concurrence  of  occurrents." — Speech  on  Subsidy  Bill. 

"  O  single-soled  jest,  solely  singular  for  the  singleness."  — 
liomeo  and  Juliet,  II.,  4- 

*"And  all  things  change  them  to  the  contrary."  —  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  IV.,  5. 


AND   HIS   SHAKESPEARE.  49 

"  Excuseth  memory  : — Distracted  by  one  day  of  astoii- 
isbment,  two  of  gladness  :  —  Two  contrary  passions." — 
Holes  for  S2)eech  Touching  Subsidi/. 

These  are  but  a  few  out  of  a  multitude  of  examples, 
such  was  his  2)e7icli ant  for  antithesis. 

"which  had  indeed  no  limit, 
A'  confidence  sans  bound."  ''' 

Another  peculiarity  of  Bacon  was  his  frequent  exagger- 
ation of  quantity  or  quality  to  the  utmost  limit  of  state- 
ment : 

"  Meaning  that  her  goodness  was  vntJiout  limits  where 
there  was  a  true  concurrence  ;  which  I  knew  in  her  nature 
to  be  true." — Apology  Concerning  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

"  Sweet  love,  I  see,  changing  his  property, 
Tunis  to  the  sourest  and  most  deadly  hate." 

—Richard  II.,  Ill,  2. 

"  But,  my  Lords,  as  it  is  a  principle  in  nature,  that  the  best 
things  are  in  their  corruption  the  worst,  and  the  sweetest  wine 
makes  the  sharpest  vinegar ;  so  it  fell  out  with  them  that  this 
excess  (as  I  may  term  it)  of  friendship  ended  in  mortal  hatred." 
— Charge  Agai7ist  the  Earl  of  Somerset. 

*  "  I  was  three  of  my  young  years  bred  with  an  embassador 
in  France." — Letter  to  King  James.  (See  Henry  V.,  III..  4-) 

In  some  instances,  he  even  dropped  into  the  peculiar  Frencli 
idiom : 

"  Myself,  as  I  then  took  contentment  in  your  approbation 
thereof,  so  I  should  esteem  and  acknowledge  not  only  my  con- 
tentment increased,  but  my  labor  advanced,  if  I  might  obtain 
your  help  in  that  nature  which  I  desire." — Letter  to  Dr.  Flay- 
fair,  Professor  at  Cambridge. 

In  his  old  age  and  in  distress,  he  thus  appeals  to  Buckingham, 
formerly  Villiers,  to  whom  he  had  been  of  great  service : 

"  Myselfhave  ridden  at  anchor  all  your  Grace's  absence,  and 
my  cables  are  now  quite  worn.  .  .  .  My  lord,  do  some  good 
work  upon  me,  that  I  may  end  my  days  in  comfort,  which  nev- 
ertheless cannot  be  complete  except  you  put  me  in  some  way  to 


50  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  And  his  ambition  was  so  exhorbitaut  and  unbounded, 
as  he  became  suitor  to  the  King  for  the  earldom  of  Ches- 
ter, whioli  ever  being  a  kind  of  appendage  to  the  princi- 
pahty  of  Wales,  and  using  to  go  to  the  King's  son,  his  suit 
did  not  only  end  in  a  denial,  but  in  a  distaste." — History 
of  Ilenvi)  VII. 

His  heart  thus  pours  forth  of  its  fulness,  in  expression 
of  the  tender  affection  between  himself  and  Sir  Toby 
Matthew : 

"Whatsoever  the  event  be  (wherein  I  depend  upon  God, 
who  ordaineth  the  effect,  the  instrument,  all)  yet  your  in- 
cessant thinking  of  me,  without  loss  of  a  moment  of  time, 
or  a  hint  of  occasion,  or  a  circumstance  of  endeavor,  or  a 
stroke  of  a  pulse,  in  demonstration  of  love  and  affection 
to  me  doth  infinitely  tie  me  to  you." — Letter  to  3Iatthew* 

do  your  noble  self  service."  And  again :  "  For,  as  I  writ  be- 
fore, my  cables  are  worn  out,  my  hope  of  tackling  is  by  your 
Lordship's  means." 

This  mournful  note  of  tlie  sea,  whispering  of  the  voyage  of 
life,  of  loosening  moorings  and  worn-out  tackling,  though  in  tlu; 
suber  measures  of  prose,  as  was  befitting  in   correspondence, 
swells  into  a  full  diapason,  in  the  tempest  of  poetic  license: 
"A''.  John.  O  cousin,  thou  art  come  to  set  mine  eye: 
Tlie  tackle  of  my  heart  is  crack'd  and  burnt ; 
And  all  the  shrouds,  wherewith  my  life  should  sail 
Are  turned  to  one  thread,  one  little  hair ; 
My  heart  hath  one  poor  string  to  stay  it  by, 
Which  liokls  but  till  tliy  news  be  uttered." 

— King  John,  V.,  7. 
*  "  lie  is  one  of  the  noblest  note,  to  whose  kindness  I  am 
most  infinitely  tied." — Cymheline,  /.,  6. 

"  A  tliousand  oaths,  an  ocean  of  his  tears, 
And  instances  as  infinite  of  love 
Warrant  me  welcome  to  Proteus." 

— Tivo  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  II.,  7. 
"  Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite. 
That  we  may  do  it  still  without  accompt." 

— i.  L.  L.,  v.,  2. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  51 

Again  ;  *'  But  so  it  was,  that  not  only  the  consent  bnt 
the  applause  and  joy  was  infinite^  and  not  tohe  expressed, 
throughout  the  realm  of  England,  upon  this  succession, 
whereof  the  consent,  no  doubt  may  be  truly  ascribed  to 
the  clearance  of  the  right,  but  the  general  joy,  alacrity 
and  gratulation  were  the  effects  of  different  causes,"  etc. 
— FriKjment  of  the  Hhtori/  of  Great  Britain.* 

In  the  contrary  sense,  but  the  like  pleonasm : 

"Bnt  yet  for  all  that,  this  liberty  is  not  infinite  and 
xoitliout  limits.'''' — Charge  Against  Whiteloch. 

And  to  cap  the  climax :  "  I  know  I  ought  douhly  infi- 
niiely  to  be  her  Majesty's." — Letter  framed  for  Essex.-\ 

"Neither  monght  I  in  reason  presume  to  offer  unto  your 
Majesty  dead  lines,  myself  being  excluded  as  I  am  ;  were  it  not 
upon  tliis  only  argument  or  subject,  namely  to  clear  myself  in 
point  of  duty.  Duty,  though  my  state  He  buried  in  the  sands, 
and  my  favors  be  cast  upon  the  waters,  and  my  honors  be  com- 
mitted to  tlie  wind,  yet  standeth  surely  built  upon  the  rock,  and 
hath  been,  and  ever  shall  be,  unforced  and  unattempted." — Let- 
ter written  for  Essex  to  the  Queen. 

"  Wolsey.  I  am  loyal,  and  will  be, 

Though  all  the  woi'ld  should  crack  their  duty  to  you, 
And  throw  it  from  their  soul ;  though  perils  did 
Abound,  as  thick  as  thought  could  make  them,  and 
Appear  in  forms  more  horrid ;  yet  my  duty, 
As  doth  a  rock  against  the  chiding  flood, 
Should  the  approach  of  this  wild  river  break, 
And  stand  unshaken  yours." — Henry  VIII.,  III.,  2. 

*-  "  I  mean  that  her  beauty  is  exquisite,  but  her  favor  infi- 
nite."— Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  II.,  1. 

"A  satire  against  the  softness  of  prosperity ;  with  a  discov- 
ery of  the  infinite  flatteries  that  follow  youth  and  prosperity." 
—Timon  of  Athens,  V.,  1. 

"  O,  you  shall  be  exposed,  my  lord,  to  dangers 
As  infinite  as  immanent." — Troil.  and  Cress.,  IV.,  1. 
"  In  nature's  infinite  book  of  secrecy 
A  little  I  can  read." — Ant.  and  Cleo.,  I.,  2. 
t  "  Oh,  were  the  sum  of  these  that  I  should  pay 


52  FRANCIS    BACON 

But  it  was  in  his  pleasantries  that  Bacon  gave  the  freer 
rein  to  this  propensity.  The  following  from  a  Court 
Masque,  in  celehratiou  of  the  Queen's  day  in  November, 
1595,  entitled  by  Spedding  (Bacon's  Works,  Vol.  VIII., 
page  377)  Bacon's  Device,  is  well  worthy  of  its  space,  as 
an  example,  to  mention  nothing  else,  of  the  extravagance 
in  thought  and  language  of  which  he  was  capable : 

"  Shall  any  man  make  his  conceit  as  an  anchor,  mured 
up  with  compass  of  one  beauty  or  person,  that  may  have 
tlie  liberty  of  all  contemplation  ?  Shall  he  exchange  the 
sweet  travelling  through  the  universal  variety  for  one 
wearisome  and  endless  round  or  labyrinth  ?  .   .   . 

"  If  from  a  sanguine,  delightful  humor  of  love  he  turn 
to  a  melancholy,  retired  humor  of  contemplation,  or  a  tur- 
bulent, boiling  humor  of  the  wars,  what  doth  he  but  change 
tyrants?  Contemplation  is  a  dream,  love  a  trance,  and 
the  humor  of  war  is  raving.  These  be  shifts  of  humor, 
but  no  reclaiming  to  reason.   .   .   . 

"  Nay,  in  his  demonstration  of  love  let  him  not  go  too 
far  ;  for  these  silly  lovers,  when  they  profess  such  infinite 
affection  and  obligation,  they  tax  themselves  at  so  high  a 
rate  they  are  ever  under  arrest.*   .   .   . 

Countless  and  infinite,  yet  I  would  pay  them." 

— Tit.  Andron.,  F.,  S. 
"  Beyond  the  infinite  and  boundless  reach 
Of  mercy,  if  thou  didst  this  deed  of  death 
Art  thou  damn'd,  Hubert." — King  John,  IV.,  3. 
—  "he's  a  most  notable  coward,  an  infinite  and  endless  liar." 

—All's  Well,  III.,  0. 
"  Valor  and  i)nde  excell  themselves  in  Hector. 
The  one  almost  as  infinite  as  all, 
The  other  blank  as  nothing." 

— Troll,  and  Cress.,  IV.,  5. 
*  And  in  the  like  extravagance:   "For  these  fellows  of  infi- 
nite tongue,  that  can  rhyme  themselves  into  ladies'  favors,  they 
do  always  reason  themselves  out  again." — Henri/  V.,  V.,  2. 
"  Would  now  like  him,  now  loathe  him ;  then  entertain  him, 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  53 

"  But  give  ear  now  to  the  comparison  of  my  master's 
condition,  and  acknowledge  such  a  difference  as  is  betwixt 
the  melting  hail-stone  and  the  solid  pearl.  Indeed  it 
seemeth  to  depend  as  the  globe  of  the  earth  seemeth  to 
hang  in  the  air  ;  but  yet  it  is  firm  and  stable  in  itself.  It 
is  like  a  cube  or  die  form,  which  toss  it  or  throw  it  any 
way,  it  ever  lighteth  upon  a  square.  Is  he  denied  the  hopes 
of  favors  to  come  ?  He  can  resort  to  the  remembrance  of 
contentments  passed :  destiny  cannot  repeal  that  which  is 
past.  Doth  he  find  the  acknowledgment  of  his  affection 
small  ?  He  may  find  the  merit  of  his  affection  greater  ? 
Fortune  cannot  have  power  over  that  which  is  within. 

''  Nay,  his  falls  are  like  the  falls  of  Antaeus  ;  they  re- 
new his  strength.  His  clouds  are  like  the  clouds  of  har- 
vest, which  make  the  sun  break  forth  with  greater  force  ; 
his  wanes  and  changes  are  like  the  moon,  whose  globe  is 
all  light  towards  the  sun  when  it  is  all  dark  towards  the 
world  ;  such  is  the  excellency  of  her  nature  and  of  his 
estate. 

then  forswear  hirn,  now  weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him ;  that  I 
drave  my  suitor  from  his  mad  humor  of  love,  to  a  living  humor 
of  madness ;  which  was  to  forswear  the  full  stream  of  the  world, 
and  to  live  in  a  nook  merely  monastic." — As  You  Like  It,  III., 
2.     And  again  : 

"  Tro'dus.  In  all  Cupid's  pageant  there  is  presented  no  mon- 
ster. 

Cressida.  Nor  nothing  monstrous  neither? 

TroUus.  Nothing,  but  our  undertakings :  when  we  vow  to 
weep  seas,  live  in  fire,  eat  rocks,  tame  tigers  ;  thinking  it  harder 
for  our  mistress  to  devise  imposition  enough,  than  for  us  to  un- 
dergo any  difficulty  imposed.  This  is  the  monstrosity  in  love, 
lady, — that  the  w  ill  is  infinite,  and  the  execution  confined  ;  that 
the  desire  is  boundless,  and  the  act  a  slave  to  limit. 

Cressida.  They  say,  all  lovei's  swear  more  performance  than 
they  are  able,  and  yet  reserve  an  ability  that  they  never  per- 
form ;  vowing  more  than  tlie  perfection  of  ten,  and  discharging 
less  than  the  tenth  part  of  one.  They  that  have  the  voice  of 
lions,  and  the  act  of  hares,  are  they  not  monsters." — Troil.  and 
Cress.,  Ill,  2. 


54  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  Attend,  you  beadsman  of  the  Muses,  you  take  pleasure 
in  a  wilderness  of  variety  ;  but  it  is  but  of  shadows.  You 
are  as  a  man  rich  in  pictures,  medals,  and  crystals.  Your 
mind  is  of  the  water,  which  taketh  all  forms  and  impres- 
sions, but  is  weak  of  substance.  Will  you  compare  shad- 
ows with  bodies,  picture  with  life,  variety  of  many  beau- 
ties with  the  peerless  excellency  of  one  ?  the  element  of 
water  with  the  element  of  fire  ?  And  such  is  the  compari- 
son between  knowledg'e  and  love."* 


*  The  reader  has  doubtless  already  discerned  our  broader  pur- 
pose, which  is  to  afford  liim  an  opportunity  to  become  person- 
ally acquainted  with  Kacon's  innate  imaginative  power.  And  to 
this  end  we  add  still  another  example : 

Writing  to  Essex  in  1596,  he  embodies  his  thought  in  this 
beautiful  figure: 

"  Wherein  I  do  not  doubt  but  as  the  beams  of  your  favor 
often  dissolved  the  coldness  of  my  fortunes,  so  in  this  argument, 
your  Lordship  will  do  the  like  with  your  pen." 

Again,  in  writing  to  King  James,  he  amplifies  the  same  poetic 
imagery : 

"And  so  expecting  that  that  sun  which  when  it  went  from  us 
left  us  cold  weather,  and  now  that  it  is  returned  towards  us 
brought  v/ith  it  a  blessed  harvest,  will  when  it  cometh  to  us  dis- 
perse all  mists  and  mistakings,  I  ever  rest,  etc." 

The  same  expressive  figure  is  utilized  in  the  opening  words 
of  Richard  III.: 

"  Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 
Made  glorious  summer  by  this  son  of  York ; 
And  all  the  clouds  that  lour'd  upon  our  house 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried." 
This  is  indeed  but  a  slight  variation  of  the  theme ;  for  it  is 
but  a  hazy  film  that  veils  cold  weather  under  the  guise  of  win- 
ter, a  blessed  harvest  in  a  glorious  summer,  and  mists  in  lower- 
ing clouds.     It  is  the  samo  gorgeous  transform atiou  scene,  util- 
izing poetically,  in  brilliant  imagery,  the  subtle,   inner,  meta- 
phorical meaning  of  the  revivifying  power  of  the  returning  sun. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  55 


CHAPTER  I.  — Continued. 

"  He  being  thus  lorded, 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue  yielded," 

"  Sure  I  am  that  the  treasure  that  cometh  from  you  to 
her  ^lajesty  is  but  as  a  vapor  which  riseth  from  the  earth 
aud  gathereth  into  a  cloud,  and  stayeth  there  not  long,  but 
upon  the  same  earth  it  falleth  again  :  and  what  if  some 
drops  of  this  do  fall  upon  France  or  Flanders  ?  It  is  like 
a  sweet  odor  of  honor  and  reputation  to  our  nation 
throughout  the  world." — Speech  on  the  Queen  s  Subsidy. 

"  And  first  in  general  we  acknowledge  that  this  tree  of 
Tenures  was  planted  into  the  prerogative  by  the  ancient 
common  law  of  this  land  ;  that  it  hath  been  fenced  in  and 
])reserved  by  many  statutes  ;  and  that  it  yieldeth  at  this 
day  to  the  King  the  fruit  of  a  great  revenue.  But  yet  not- 
withstanding, if  upon  the  stem  of  this  tree  may  be  raised 
a  pillar  of  support  to  the  Crown  permanent  and  durable 
as  the  marble,  by  investing  the  Crown  with  a  more  ample, 
more  certain,  and  more  loving  dowry  than  this  of  Tenures, 
we  hope  we  propound  no  matter  of  disservice." — Speech 
upon  the  Compoundincj  of  Tenures.* 

"  But  what  my  power  might  else  exact," 
"  And  there  is  a  great  difference  between  a  benevolence 

*  "  And  further,  he  that  shall  look  into  your  revenues  at  the 
ports  of  the  sea,  your  revenues  in  courts  of  justice,  and  for  the 
stirring  of  your  seals,  the  revenues  upon  your  clergy,  and  the 
rest,  will  conclude  that  the  law  of  England  studied  how  to  make 
a  licli  crown,  and  yet  without  levies  upon  your  subjects." — 
Of  the  True  Greatness  of  the  Kingdom  of  Britain. 


56  FRANCIS    BACON 

and  an  exaction  called  a  benevolence ;  *  which  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham  speaks  of  in  his  oration  to  the  city  ;  and 
defineth  it  to  be  not  what  the  subject  of  his  good-will 
would  give,  but  what  the  king  of  his  good-will  would  take." 
—  Charge  Against  St.  John. 

"  And  this  Solomon  of  England,  for  Solomon  was  too 
heavy  upon  his  people  in  exactions." — History  of  Henry 
VII. 

"  like  one 
Who  having  unto  truth,  by  telling  of  it, 
Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory, 
To  credit  his  own  lie, — he  did  believe 
He  was  indeed  the  duke;  " 

"  Neither  was  Perkin,  for  his  part,  wanting  to  himself, 
either  in  gracious  or  princely  behavior,  or  in  ready  and 
apposite  answers,  or  in  contenting  and  caressing  those 
that  did  apply  themselves  unto  him,  or  in  pretty  scorn  and 
disdain  to  those  that  seemed  to  doubt  him  ;  but  in  ail 
things  did  notably  acquit  himself  ;  insomuch  as  it  was  gen- 
erally believed,  as  well  amongst  great  persons  as  amongst 
the  vulgar,  that  he  was  indeed  Duke  Richard.  Nay,  him- 
self, with  long  and  continued  counterfeiting,  and  with  oft 
telling  a  lie,  was  turned  by  habit  almost  into  the  thing  he 
seemed  to  be  ;  and  from  a  liar  to  a  believer." —  History 
of  Henri/  VII.  f 

*  "  And  daily  new  exactions  are  devised  — 

As  blanks,  benevolencies,  and  I  wot  not  what;" 
— Ki/if/  Richard  II.,  II.,  1. 
t  In  the  interest  of  the  earnest  student  of  the  plays,  it  should 
be  mentioned  that  Bacon  found  in  the  classics  (Tacitus)  the 
germ  out  of  which  he  developed  this  keen  diagnosis  of  an  ab- 
normal or  disordered  state  of  the  mental  powers: 

"  And  indeed  let  a  man  look  into  them,  and  lie  shall  find 
them  the  only  triumphant  lies  that  ever  were  confuted  by  cir- 
cumstances of  time  and  place,  confuted  by  contrariety  in  them- 
selves, confuted  by  the  witness  of  injinite  persons  that  live  yet 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  57 

"  out  of  the  substitution,* 
And  executing  the  outward  face  of  royalty ,f 
With  all  prerogative :  — " 

The  maintenance  of  the  royal  prerogative  was  Bacon's 
especial  duty  as  Attorney-General  for  the  Crown,  and 
when  Lord  Keeper,  he  thus  charged  Sir  John  Deuham, 
made  Baron  of  the  Exchequer  : 

*'  First,  therefore,  above  all  you  ought  to  maintain  the 
King's  prerogative,  and  to  set  down  with  yourself  that  the 
King's  prerogative  and  the  law  are  not  two  things ;  but 
the  King's  prerogative  is  law,  and  the  principal  part  of  the 
hiw  ;  the  first  born  or  pars  prima  of  the  law  ;  and  there- 
fore in  conserving  and  maintaining  that,  you  conserve  and 
maintain  the  law." 

And  in  humorous  parlance,  for  in  the  words  of  Ben 
Jonsou,  Bacon's  speech  was  nobly  censorious,  "  when  he 
could  spare  or  pass  a  jest  ": 

and  have  had  particular  knowledge  of  the  matters ;  but  yet 
avouched  with  such  asseveration,  as  if  either  they  were  fallen 
into  tliat  strange  disease  of  the  mind  which  a  wise  writer  de- 
scvibethin  these  words,  fin(/mif  shnul  creduntque  ;  "  etc.,  [They 
feign  and  at  the  same  time  believe  it.] — Observations  on  a  Libel, 
in  1592. 

And,  by  the  way,  if  the  classics  are  capable  of  such  fruitage, 
even  in  one  mind  in  a  generation,  can  we  afford  to  omit  them 
from  the  curriculum  open  to  our  youth  ? 

*  In  his  Considerations  Touching  the  Pacification  and  Edi- 
fication of  the  Church,  Bacon  condemns  the  holding  of  a  bene- 
fice and  executing  its  functions  by  a  representative ;  adding  by 
way  of  exception,  "  and  likewise  for  the  case  of  necessity,  as  in 
the  particular  of  infirmity  of  body  and  the  like,  no  man  will 
contradict  but  there  may  be  some  substitution  for  such  a  time." 

t"The  outward  face  of  peace  might  flatter  them  into  negli- 
gence, but  their  only  real  security  was  to  be  prepared  for  war." 
— Speech  on  Motion,  and,  Suj)]>l>/. 

'<  And  therefore  whensoever  it  cometh  to  pass  that  one  saith 


58  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  Then  add  to  that  some  large  allowance  for  waste 
(because  the  King  shall  not  lose  his  prerogative  to  be  de- 
ceived more  than  other  men)." — On  Retrenchment  in  the 
Household. 

And  again,  poetically : 

"  His  lordship  further  cited  two  precedents  concerning 
other  points  of  prerogative,  which  are  likewise  flowers  of 
the  crown." — Report  of  Salisbury's  A7isioer  to  the  Mer- 
chants. 

"  Your  Majesty's  prerogative  and  authority  having 
risen  some  just  degrees  above  the  horizon  more  than  here- 
tofore, which  hath  dispersed  vapors." — On  the  Impolicy 
of  the  Alliance. 

The  following  is  well  worthy  of  place  in  illustration  of 
Bacon's  profound  reverence  for  the  "  divine  right  of 
kings,"  a  pronounced  characteristic  repeatedly  manifested 
in  the  plays.  Moreover,  it  lay  at  the  foundation  of  the 
thorough  respectability  of  the  system  then  in  vogue,  of 
"  suing  "  to  the  crown,  as  to  the  ordained  source  of  earthly 
benefits,  for  the  bestowal  of  privileges,  favors,  and  ad- 
vancements :  all  of  which  is  to  us  as  foreign  as  if  it  be- 
longed to  another  world,  and  likewise  as  liable  to  be  mis- 
judged : 

"  The  platforms  are  three  :  The  first  is  that  of  a  father, 
or  chief  of  a  family  ;  who  governing  over  his  wife  by  pre- 
rogative of  sex,  over  his  children  by  prerogative  of  age, 
and  because  he  is  author  unto  them  of  being,  and  over 
his  servants  by  prerogative  of  virtue  and  providence  (for 
he  that  is  able  of  body,  and  improvident  of  mind,  is  iiat- 
ura  servus)  is  the  very  model  of  a  king.  .  .  .  And  this 
is  the  first  platform,  which  we  see  is  merely  natural.* 

Ecce  in  deserto,  another  saith  Ecce  in  ji&netralis,  that  is,  when 
some  men  seek  Christ  in  conventicles  of  heretics,  and  othei's  in 
an  ovt  I  card  face  of  a  church,  that  voice  had  need  continually  to 
sound  in  men's  ears,  nolite  exire, — '  go  not  out.'  " — Of  Unity  in 
Religion. 

*  "Yet  no  man  will  allirm,  that  the  obedience  of  the  child  is 


AND    HIvS    SHAKESPEARE.  59 

"  The  second  is  that  of  a  shepherd  and  his  flock,  which, 
Xenophon  saith,  Cyrus  had  ever  in  his  mouth.  For  shep- 
herds are  not  owners  of  the  sheep ;  but  their  office  is  to 
feed  and  govern ;  no  more  are  kings  proprietaries  or  owners 
of  the  people ;  for  God  is  sole  owner  of  people.  '  The 
nations,'  as  the  Scriptures  saith,  '  are  his  inheritance ': 
but  the  office  of  kings  is  to  govern,  maintain  and  prote(;t 
people.  And  it  is  not  without  a  mystery,  that  the  first 
king  that  was  instituted  by  God,  David  (for  Saul  v/as  but 
an  untimely  fruit),  was  translated  from  a  shepherd,  as 
you  have  it  in  Psalms  Ixxviii.  This  is  the  second  plat- 
form ;  a  work  likewise  of  nature. 

"  The  third  platform  is  the  government  of  God  himself 
over  the  world,  whereof  lawful  monarchies  are  a  shadow. 
And  therefore  amongst  the  Heathen,  and  amongst  the 
Christians,  the  word  sacred  hath  been  attributed  unto 
kings,  because  of  the  conformity  of  a  monarchy  with  a 
divine  Majesty:  never  to  a  senate  or  people.  .  .  .  So,  we 
see,  there  be  precedents  or  platforms  of  monarchies,  both 
in  nature,  and  above  nature ;  even  from  the  monarch  of 
heaven  and  earth  to  the  king,*  if  you  will,  in  a  hive  of 

by  law,  though  laws  in  some  points  do  make  it  more  positive : 
and  even  so  it  is  of  allegiance  of  subjects  to  hereditary  mon- 
archs,  which  is  corroborated  and  confirmed  by  law,  but  is  the 
work  of  tliG  law  of  nature.''' — Case  of  the  Post  Natl  of  Scotland. 

*  Curiously  enough,  the  same  intentional  misnomer  appears 
in  the  parallel  passage  in  Henry  V.,  I.,  2. 

^^  Bishop  of  Exeter.  For  government,  though  high 

and  low,  and  lower, 
Put  into  parts,  doth  keep  in  one  consent ; 
Congruing  in  a  full  and  natural  close, 
Like  music. 

Canterbury.  Therefore  doth  heaven  divide 
The  state  of  man  in  divers  functions, 
Setting  endeavor  in  continual  motion  ; 
To  which  is  fixed,  as  an  aim  or  butt, 
Obedience :  for  so  work  \\n\  honey  bees  ; 
Creatures,  that,  by  a  rule  of  nature,  teach 


60  ■  FRANCIS    BACON 

bees.  And  therefore  other  states  are  the  creatures  of  law : 
and  this  state  only  subsisteth  by  nature." — Case  of  tJic 
Post  Natl  of  Scotland. 

"Hence  his  ambition  growing," — 
In  his  elegant  exposition  of  the  fable  of  Dionysius, 
Bacon  gives  a  powerful  delineation  of  the  growth  of  all 
inordinate  desire,  from  its  first  inception,  through  its 
development,  to  its  final  outbreak  into  overt,  infamous 
action  ;  the  fidelity  of  which  all  must  recognize  : 

''  The  fable  seems  to  bear  upon  morals,  and  indeed  there 
is  nothing  better  to  be  found  in  moral  philosophy.  Under 
the  person  of  Bacchus  is  described  the  nature  of  Desire, 
or  passion  and  perturbation.  For  the  mother  of  all  desire, 
even  the  most  noxious,  is  nothing  else  than  the  appetite 
and  aspiration  for  apparent  good ;  and  the  coiiccjjtlou  of 
it  is  always  in  some  unlawful  wish,  rashly  granted  before 
it  has  been  understood  and  weighed.  But  as  the  passion 
warms,  its  mother  (that  is  the  nature  of  good),  not  able 
to  endure  the  heat  of  it,  is  destroyed  and  perishes  in  the 

The  act  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom. 

They  hava  a  kinrj,  and  officers  of  sorts : 

Where  some,  like  magistrates,  correct  at  home; 

Others,  like  merchants,  venture  trade  abroad ; 

Others,  like  soldiers,  armed  in  their  stings, 

Make  boot  upon  the  summer's  velvet  buds ; 

Which  pillage  they  with  merry  march  bring  home 

To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor : 

Who,  busied  in  his  majesties,  surveys 

The  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold  ; 

The  civil  citizens  kneading  up  tlie  honey ; 

The  poor  mechanic  porters  crowding  in 

Their  heavy  burdens  at  his  narrow  gate  ; 

The  sad-eyed  justice,  with  his  surly  hum, 

Delivering  o'er  to  executors  pale 

The  lazy  yawning  drone.      1  this  infer, — 

That  many  things,  having  full  reference 

To  one  consent,  may  work  contrariously." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  61 

flame.  Itself,  while  still  in  embryo,  remains  in  the  hu- 
man soul  (whieh  is  ii%  father  and  represented  by  Jupi- 
ter), especially  in  the  lower  part  of  the  soul,  as  in  the 
thigh  ;  where  it  is  both  nourished  and  hidden  ;  and  where 
it  causes  such  prickings,  pains,  and  depressions  in  the 
mind,  that  its  resolutions  and  actions  labor  and  limp 
with  it.  And  even  after  it  has  grown  strong  by  indul- 
gence and  custom,  and  breaks  forth  into  acts,  it  is  never- 
theless brought  up  for  a  time  with  Proserpina ;  that  is  to 
say,  it  seeks  hiding-places,  and  keeps  itself  secret  and  as 
it  were  underground  ;  until  casting  off  all  restraints  of 
shame  and  fear,  and  growing  bold,  it  either  assumes  the 
mask  of  some  virtue  or  sets  infamy  itself  at  defiance.  .  .  . 
Very  elegantly  too  is  Passion  represented  as  the  subjugator 
of  provinces,  and  the  undertaker  of  an  endless  course  of 
conquest.  For  it  never  rests  satisfied  with  what  it  has, 
but  goes  on  and  on  with  infinite,  insatiable  appetite,  pant- 
ing after  new  triumphs."  —  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients, 
XXIV. 

"  And,  as  it  fareth  with  smoke,  that  never  loseth  itself 
till  it  be  at  tlie  highest,  he  did  now  before  his  end  raise 
his  style,  entitling  himself  no  more  Richard,  Duke  of 
York,  but  Richard  the  Fourth,  King  of  England." — His- 
tory of  Henry  VII. 


"Dost  thou  hear? 

Mir.  Your  tale,  sir,  would  cure  deafness." 

"  Aurihus  mederi  difficillium.''^  [To  cure  the  ears  most 
difficult.] — Pronius  of  Fonmdaries  and  Elegancies. 

This  mere  association  may  be  supplemented  by  the  fol- 
lowing equally  poetic  figures : 

"  unto  your  Majesty's  sacred  ears  (open  to  the  air  of 
all  virtues.)" — Letter  to  King  James. 

"wherein  his  Majesty's  pen  hath  been  so  happy,  as 
though  the  deaf  adder  will  not  hear,  yet  he  is  charmed 


G2  FRANCIS    BACON 

that  he  doth  not  hiss." — speech  in  llej^ly  to  the  S2)eakers 
Oration.* 

"  Therefore  your  Lordship's  discourses  had  need  con- 
tent my  ears  very  well  to  make  them  entreat  mine  eyes  to 
keep  open." — Advertisement  Touching  an  Holy  War.^ 


''Pros.  To  have  no  screen  J  between  this  part  he 

play'd 

And  him  he  })lay'd  it  for," 

"  I  think  no  man  may  more  truly  say  with  the  Psalm, 
Mnltum  incola  fuit  anima  mea,  than  myself.  For  I  do 
confess,  since  I  was  of  any  understanding,  any  mind  hath 
in  effect  been  absent  from  what  I  have  done  ;  and  in  ab- 
sence are  many  errors  which  I  do  willingly  acknowledge  ; 
and  amongst  the  rest  this  great  one  that  led  the  rest ;  that 
knowing  myself  by  inward  calling  to  be  fitter  to  hold  a 
book  than  to  play  a  part,  I  have  led  my  life  in  civil  causes  ; 
for  which  I  was  not  very  fit  by  nature,  and  more  unfit  by 
the  preoccupation  of  my  mind.  Therefore  calling  myself 
home,  I  have  now  for  a  time  enjoyed  myself ;  whereof 
likewise  I  desire  to  make  the  world  partaker." — Letter  to 
Sir  Thomas  Bodley  (presenting  a  copy  of  his  Advance- 

*  "  For  pleasure  and  revenge 

Have  ears  more  deaf  than  adders  to  the  voice 
Of  any  true  decision." 

— Troll,  and  Cress.,  II.,  2. 
t  And  in  the  like  vein : 

"  If  this  be  true, 
(As  I  have  such  a  heart  that  botli  mine  eyes 
Must  not  in  haste  abuse.)" — Cymheline  I.,  6. 

t "  in  short,  to  be  a  screen  to  your  Majesty  in  things  of  this 
nature ;  such  as  was  the  Lord  Burleigh  for  many  years." — 
Letter  to  King  James. 

"  for  by  that  means,  there  be  so  many  screens  between  him 
and  envy." — Of  Envy. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  Go 

ment  of  Learmng^^  written  in  1605,  sixteen  years  before 
his  fall. 

"  Therefore  I  will  reserve  that  till  to-morrow,  and  holtl 
myself  to  that  which  I  called  the  stage  or  theatre^  where- 
unto  indeed  it  may  be  fitly  compared :  for  that  things 
were  first  contained  within  the  invisible  judgments  of  God, 
as  within  a  curtain^  and  after  came  forth  and  were  acted 
most  worthily  by  the  King,  and  right  well  by  his  Minis- 
ters."—  Charge  Against  the  Countess  of  Somerset. 

And  in  pleasantry : 

"  And  as  for  yon,  untrue  Politique,  .  .  while  your  life 
is  nothing  but  a  continual  acting  uj)on  a  stage ;  and  that 
your  mind  must  serve  your  humor,  and  yet  your  outward 
person  nnist  serve  your  end  ;  so  as  you  carry  in  one  per- 
son two  several  servitudes  to  contrary  masters." — Device 
for  Covrt  Masque. 

"  lie  needs  will  be 
Absolute  Milan." 

"  And  that  King  Ferdinando,  howsoever  he  did  dismiss 
himself  of  the  name  of  King  of  Castile,  yet  meant  to  hold 
the  kingdom  without  account  and  in  ahsohite  command." 
—History  of  Henry  VII. 

"  Plis  Majesty's  prerogative  and  his  ahsohite  imiver  in- 
cident to  his  sovereignty  is  also  lex  terrae^  and  is  invested 
and  exercised  by  the  law  of  the  land,  and  is  part  thereof." 
— Proceeding  Against  Whitelocke. 

"  For  it  is  plain  that  a  kingdom  and  absolute  dukedom, 
or  any  other  sovereign  estate,  do  differ  honor e  and  not 
potestate.''^ — Case  of  the  Post-Mati  of  Scotland.* 

*  "  So  the  mistaking-  (whether  voluntary  or  ignorant,  but  gross 
and  idle  I  am  sure)  of  the  end  and  use  of  this  writ  hath  bred  a 
great  buzz,  and  a  kind  of  amazement,  as  if  this  were  a  work  of 
ahsohite  power,  or  a  strain  of  the  prerogatwe,  or  a  cliecking  or 
shocking  of  justice,  or  an  infinite  delay." — Case  de  lieye  In- 
consnlto. 


64  FRANCIS    BACJON 

j-t         <*     (  ^^Mc,  ])(H)r  mail,  my  library 

H.  ir^l^,   \  ^y.^g  dukedom  larire  enouoh  •  " 


O""  ""'""""to" 


/-  71 


vju/  /  (/^  See  note  to  "  sans  bound,"  ante  page  49. 

Possibly  the  idea  of  a  more  satisfying  enjoyment  of 
power  is  implied,  in  a  subtle  way,  in  the  use  of  the  phrase, 
"  dukedom  large  enough."  The  reader  is  referred  to  the 
lengthy  passage  in  the  Advancement  of  Learning,  First 
Book,  Worhs^  Spedding's  edition.  Vol.  III.,  page  316,  or 
Bohn's  edition,  page  68,  where  in  an  eloquent  plea  to  man- 
kind in  behalf  of  learning,  Bacon  characterizes  it  as  a  do- 
main of  real  power,  higher  than  that  of  any  earthly  domin- 
ion, and  approaching  "  nearest  to  the  similitude  of  the 
divine  rule." 

(Perhaps  none  will  object  if  henceforth,  for  economy  of 
space,  in  some  minor  matters,  references  merely  be  given, 
to  be  consulted  at  the  reader's  leisure.) 

"  of  temporal  royalties 
Pie  tliiiiks  me  now  incapable :  " 

Prospero's  faults  are  here,  as  in  life,  working  out  their 
inevitable  penalty  ;  for  as  Bacon  urged  in  his  Advice  to 
Essex^  goi^ift  into  Ireland,  "There  is  yet  another  kind  of 
divination  familiar  in  matters  of  state,  being  that  which 
Demosthenes  so  often  relieth  upon  in  his  time,  when  he 
saith,  '  That  which  for  the  time  past  is  worst  of  all,  is  for 
the  time  to  come  the  best :  which  is,  that  things  go  ill  not 
hy  accident,  hut  hy  errors.^  " 

We  may  confidently  believe  that  in  the  intent  of  the 
Poet,  Prospero's  persistent  seclusion,  his  absorbing  devo- 
tion to  secret  studies,  his  consequent  neglect,  and  his  ex- 
cess of  trust,  were  efficient  causes  contributing  directly  to 
his  coming  overthrow. 

"  Again,  if  you  think  you  may  intend  comtemplations 
with  security,  your  Excellency  will  be  deceived  ;  for  such 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  65 

studies  will  make  you  retired  and  disused  with  your  busi- 
ness, whence  will  follow  a  diminution  of  your  authority." 
—  Gcsta  Grayoriim^  Fourth  Counsellor. 

"  And  let  men  beware  how  they  neglect  and  suffer  mat- 
ter of  trouble  to  be  prepared.  For  no  man  can  forbid  the 
spark,  nor  tell  whence  it  may  come.  The  difficulties  in 
princes'  business  are  many  and  great ;  but  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty is  often  in  their  own  mind." — Of  Enijyire. 

"  '  There  are  seasons,'  says  Tacitus,  '  wherein  great  vir- 
tues are  the  surest  causes  of  ruin.'  And  upon  men  emi- 
nent for  virtue  and  justice  it  comes  suddenly,  sometimes 
long  foreseen." — De  Augmentis^  Eighth  Book,  Chap.  II. 

"  confederates  * 
(So  dry  he  was  for  sway)  with  the  Kmg  of  Naples," 

"  But  Richard,  Duke  of  Gloucester,  their  unnatural  un- 
cle, first  thirsting  after  the  kingdom,  through  ambition, 
and  afterwards  thirsting  for  their  blood,  out  of  desire  to 
secure  himself,  employed  an  instrument  of  his,  confident 
to  him,  as  he  thought,  to  murder  them  both." 

"  For  Pope  Alexander,  finding  himself  pent  and  locked 
up  by  a  league  and  association  of  the  principal  states  of 
Italy,  that  he  could  not  make  his  way  for  the  advancement 
of  his  own  house,  which  he  immoderately  thirsted  after, 
was  desirous  to  trouble  the  waters  of  Italy,  that  he  might 
fish  the  better." — History  of  Henry  VII. 

"  To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  homage ;  f 
Subject  his  coronet  to  his  crown  J  and  bend 
The  dukedom,  yet  unbow'd,  (alas  poor  Milan! ) 
To  most  ignoble  stooping."  § 

*  See  Works,  Vol.  7,  page  171 ;  Vol.  14,  page  500. 

t  See  Works,  Vol.  6,  pp.  63,  65 ;  Vol.  7,  pp.  334,  482. 

t  See  Works,  Vol.  13,  p.  196. 

§  See  Works,  Vol.  6,  pp.  32,  222  ;  Vol.  14,  pp.  445,  517. 


66  FKANCIS    BACON 

Still  another  phase  of  human  life  and  experience  is  here 
unfolded  before  us : 

"■  It  is  a  poor  centre  of  a  man's  action,  himself.  .  .  . 
it  is  a  desperate  evil  in  a  servant  to  a  prince  or  a  citizen 
in  a  republic ;  for  whatsoever  affairs  pass  such  a  man's 
hands,  he  crooketh  them  to  his  own  ends,  which  must 
needs  be  often  eccentric  to  the  ends  of  his  master  or  state  : 
therefore  let  princes  or  states  choose  such  servants  as  have 
not  this  mark ;  except  they  mean  their  service  should  be 
made  but  the  accessory.  That  which  maketh  the  effect 
more  pernicious  is,  that  all  proportion  is  lost :  it  were 
disproportionate  enough  for  the  servant's  good  to  be  pre- 
ferred before  the  master's  ;  but  yet  it  is  a  greater  extreme, 
when  a  little  good  of  the  servant  shall  carry  things  against 
a  great  good  of  the  master's  ;  and  yet  that  is  the  case  of 
bad  officers,  treasurers,  ambassadors,  generals,  and  other 
false  and  corrupt  servants ;  which  set  a  bias  upon  their 
bowl,*  of  their  own  pretty  ends  and  envies  to  the  over- 
throw of  their  master's  great  and  important  affairs  ;  and 
for  the  most  part,  the  good  such  servants  receive  is  after 
the  model  of  their  own  fortune ;  l)ut  the  hurt  they  sell  for 
that  good  is  after  the  model  of  their  master's  fortune  ;  and 
certainly  it  is  the  nature  of  extreme  self-lovers,  as  they 
will  set  a  house  on  fire,  an  it  were  but  to  roast  their 
eggs." — Of  Wisdom  for  a  Man's  Self. 

It  is  obvious  that  had  the  Poet  made  Antonio  accom- 
plish his  usurpation  by  the  aid  of  his  own  minions,  with- 
out bending  Milan  to  such  "  ignoble  stooping,"  this  phase 
of  human  nature  would  have  been  left  comparatively  un- 
developed and  the  lesson  less  pointedly  taught. 

*  "Commodity,  the  bias  of  the  world; 
The  world,  who  of  itself  is  piesbd  well, 
Made  to  run  even,  upon  even  ground ; 
Till  this  advantage,  this  vile  drawing  bias, 
Tliis  sway  of  motion,  this  commodity, 
Makes  it  take  Iiead  from  all  iudlfferency, 
From  all  direction,  purpose,  course,  intent." 

— King  John  II.,  2. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  67 

"Mir.  O  the  lieavenH ! 

Pros.  Mark  his  condition ; '''  and  the  event ;  f  then 

tell  me, 
If  this  might  be  a  brother." 

"  And  even  when  the  ties  of  relationship  (which  are  as 
the  sacraments  of  nature)  or  of  mutual  good  services  come 
in  to  aid,  yet  in  most  cases  all  are  too  weak  for  ambition 
and  interest  and  the  license  of  power :  the  rather  because 
princes  can  always  find  plenty  of  plausible  pretexts  (not 
being  accountable  to  any  arbiter)  wherewith  to  justify  and 
veil  their  cupidity  and  bad  faith." —  Wisdom  of  the  An- 
cients.,  V. 

"  3Er.  I  should  sin 

To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother : 
Good  wombs  have  borne  bad  sons." 
See  note  to  "  a  good  parent,"  ante,  page  44. 

"  Pros.  Now  the  condition. 

This  king  of  Naples  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  J  hearkened  my  brother's  suit ;  § 
Which  w^as,  that  he,  in  lieu  o'  the  premises' — " 
In  this  concise,  lawyer-like  statement  of  the  contract, 

*  See  Works,  Vol.  13,  pp.  18,  64,  111,  212. 

t  See  WorJcs,  Vol  3,  p.  371 ;  Vol.  8,  pp.  356,  357,  383 ;  Vol. 
14,  p.  494. 

I  The  following  from  J/Jnc.  Brit.,  Article  Italy — History — 
Age  of  Invasions,  1492, — would  seem  to  indicate  a  close  famil- 
iarity with  the  History  of  Italy  on  the  part  of  the  Poet:  "  Lu- 
dovico  resolved  to  become  Duke  of  Milan.  The  King  of  Na- 
ples was  his  natui'al  eJiemij,  and  he  had  cause  to  suspect  that 
Piero  de'  Medici  might  abandon  his  alliance."  See  also  Works, 
Vol.  6,  p.  208. 

§  See  Works,  Vol.  8,  p.  193. 


68  FRANCIS    BACON 

its  consideration,  the  condition  of  its  performance,  and  its 
fulfilment  in  the  event,  the  appropriate  use  of  this  tech- 
nical legal  phrase  will  be  recognized  at  once  by  every  at- 
torney. Moreover,  it  is  evidently  handled  with  that  ease 
and  freedom  which  accompany  a  mastery  of  technique. 

"  Of  homage,  and  I  know  not  how  much  tribute, — 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Out  of  the  dukedom ;  '='  and  confer  fair  ^lilan, 
With  all  the  honors  on  my  brother ;  whereon, 
A  treacherous  army  levied,  one  midnight 
Fated  to  the  purjwse,'!*  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan ;  and,  i'  the  dead  of  darkness,  { 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me,  and  thy  crying  self" 

The  deep  insight  of  the  Poet  into  the  heart  of  things, 
and  even  into  the  occult  sympathies  existing  between  an  ac- 
tion and  its  natural  environment,  here  manifested  in  cloth- 
ing this  deed  in  the  shroud  of  night,  needs  but  to  be  men- 
tioned to  be  appreciated. 

After  his  fall,  Bacon  addressed  the  Bishop  of  Winches- 
ter in  these  remarkable  words  ;  revealing  his  greatness, 
even  in  the  midst  of  his  ruin  : 

"In  this  kind  of  consolation  I  have  not  been  wanting 
to  myself,  though  as  a  Christian  I  have  tasted  (through 
God's  great  goodness)  of  higher  remedies.  Having  there- 
fore, through  the  variety  of  my  reading,  set  before  me 
many  examples,  both  of  ancient  and  later  times,  my 
thoughts  (I  confess)  have  chiefly  stayed  upon  three  par- 
ticulars, as  the  most  eminent  and  the  most  resembling. 
All  three  persons  that  had  held  chief  places  of  authority 

*  See  Works,  Vol.  8,  p.  183. 

t  See  Works,  Vol.  4,  pp.  O'J,  320. 

%  See  Works,  Vol.  5,  p.  490  ;  Vol.  9,  j).  liU  ;  Vol.  10,  p.  185. 


AND    niS    SHAKESPEARE.  69 

in  their  countries  ;  all  three  ruined,  not  by  war,  or  by  any 
other  disaster,  but  by  justice  and  sentence,  as  delinquents 
and  criminals  ;  all  three  famous  writers,  insomuch  as  the 
resemblance  of  their  calamity  is  now  as  to  posterity  but 
as  a  little  picture  of  nl(jht-wo7'h,  remaining  amongst  the 
fair  and  excellent  tables  of  their  acts  and  works  ;  and  all 
three  (if  that  were  anything  to  the  matter)  fit  examples 
to  quench  any  man's  ambition  of  rising  again  ;  for  that 
they  were  every  one  of  them  restored  with  great  glory, 
but  to  their  further  ruin  and  destruction,  ending  in  a  vio- 
lent death.  The  men  were  Demosthenes,  Cicero,  and 
Seneca;  persons  that  I  durst  not  claim  affinity  with,  ex- 
cept the  similitude  of  our  fortunes  had  contracted  it. 
When  I  had  cast  mine  eyes  upon  these  examples,  I  was 
carried  on  further  to  observe  how  they  did  bear  their  for- 
tunes, and  principally  how  they  did  employ  their  times, 
being  banished  and  disabled  for  public  business :  to  the 
end  that  I  might  learn  by  them  ;  and  that  they  might  be 
as  well  my  counsellors  as  my  comforters.  .  .  .  These  ex- 
amples confirmed  me  much  in  a  resolution  (whereunto  I 
was  otherwise  inclined)  to  spend  my  time  wholly  in  writ- 
ing ;  and  to  put  forth  that  poor  talent,  or  half  talent,  or 
what  it  is,  that  God  hath  given  me,  not  as  heretofore  to 
particular  exchanges,  but  to  banks  or  mounts  of  perpetu- 
ity, which  will  not  break." 

"MV.  Alack,  for  pity! 

I,  not  remembering  how  I  cried  out  then, 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again :  it  is  a  hint 
That  wrings  mine  eyes  to't." 
Wright,  and  some  critics  following  him,  interpret  the 
word  "  hint "  as  meaning  "  subject,  theme,"  while  other 
critics  say  "  suggestion." 

But  there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  the 
word,  or  of  its  exquisite  adaptation  to  the  thought  ex- 
pressed, after  reading  the  following : 

'•'•Pity  causeth  sometimes  tears,  and  a  flexion  or  cast  of 


70  FRANCIS   BACON 

the  eye  aside.  Tears  eome  from  the  m7ne  cause  that  they 
do  in  grief:  for  pity  is  but  grief  in  another's  behalf." — 
Natural  History,  719. 

''Pros.  Hear  a  little  further, 

And  then  I  '11  bring  thee  to  the  present  business 
Which  now 's  upon  us;  without  the  which,  this  story 
Were  most  impertinent." 

"  This  were  a  large  field  to  enter  into,  and  therefore  I 
will  only  choose  such  a  walk  in  it  as  leadeth  iwrt'mently 
to  the  question  in  hand:  wherein  I  will  stand  only  on  pre- 
rogatives that  did  beget  this  writ."  —  Case  of  the  liege 
Inconsidto. 

"  Although  therefore  I  had  wholly  sequestered  my 
thoughts  from  civil  affairs,  yet  because  it  is  a  new  case 
and  concerneth  my  country  infinitely,  I  obtained  of  myself 
to  set  dov/n  (out  of  long  continued  experience  in  business 
of  estate,  and  much  conversation  in  books  of  policy  and 
history)  what  I  thought  j^ertinent  to  this  business.''^ — 
Considerations  Touching  a  War  With  Sjiain. 

"  For  if  it  be  time  to  talk  of  this  now,  it  is  either  be- 
cause the  busiyiess  now  in  hand  cannot  proceed  without 
it,  or  because  in  time  and  order  this  matter  should  be 
precedent." — Speech  on  Union  of  Laws. 

''Mir.  Wherefore  did  they  not 

That  hour  destroy  us  ? 

Pros.  Well  demanded,  wench ; 

My  tale  provokes  that  question.     Dear,  they  dui'st 

not,'-' — 
So  dear  the  love  my  peojde  ])ore  me, —  not  set 
A  mark  so  bloody  on  the  business;*)"  ))ut 
With  colors  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends." 

*  For  this  colloquialism  see  ante  page  69. 

t  See  Works,  Vol.  6,  p.  424 ;  Vol.  7,  p.  101 ;  Vol.  12,  p.  308. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  71 

"  Color  is,  when  men  warily  and  skillfully  make  and 
prepare  a  way  for  themselves,  for  a  favorable  and  conven- 
ient construction  of  their  faults  or  wants  ;  as  proceeding 
from  a  better  cause,  or  intended  for  some  other  purpose 
than  is  commonly  imagined."  —  Dc  Auymeiitis,  Eighth 
Book,  Chap.  II. 

"  And  that  if  the  king  should  have  occasion  to  break 
up  his  Parliament  suddenly  there  may  be  more  civil  color 
to  do  it." — Advice  Touching  the  Culling  of  Parliament. 

"  Many  a  cruzado  hath  the  Bishop  of  Rome  granted  to 
him  and  his  predecessors  upon  that  color,  which  have  all 
been  spent  upon  the  effusion  of  Christian  blood.  And 
now  this  present  year,  the  levies  of  Germans  which  should 
have  been  made  underhand  for  France  were  colored  with 
the  pretence  of  war  upon  the  Turk." —  Observations  on  a 
Libel* 

*('■'■  Des.   Believe  me,  I  had  rather  have  lost  my  purse 
Full  of  cruzadoes." — Othello,  III.,  Jf. 

"  and  as  the  only  means 
To  stop  effusion  of  our  Christian  blood." 

— /.,  Henry  VI.,  V.,  1.) 

"  I  have  advertised  him  by  secret  means, 
That  if,  about  this  hour  he  make  his  way, 
Under  the  color  of  his  usual  game, 
He  shall  here  find  his  friends,  with  horse  and  men 
To  set  him  free  from,  his  captivity." 

—  Ill,  Henry  VL,  IV.,  5. 

("I  would  be  glad  to  hear  often  from  you,  and  to  be  adver- 
tised how  things  pass,  whereby  to  have  some  occasion  to  think 
some  good  thoughts." — Letter  to  Sir  John  Davis.  See  Sonnet 
LXXXV.) 

"  Q.  Mar.  Henry  my  lord  is  cold  in  great  affairs, 
Too  full  of  foolish  pity:   and  Gloster's  show 
Beguiles  him  as  the  mournful  crocodile 
With  sorrow  snares  relenting  passengers.   .  .  . 
Cardinal.  That  he  should  die  is  worthy  policy : 
But  yet  we  want  a  color  for  his  death." 

—  IL,  Henry  VL,  III,  L 


72  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  So  as  the  opinion  of  so  great  and  wise  a  man  doth 
seem  nnto  me  a  good  warrant  both  of  the  possibility  and 
worth  of  this  matter.  .  .  .  But  because  there  be  so  many 
good  painters  both  for  hand  and  colors,  it  needeth  but 
encouragement  and  instruction  to  give  life  and  light  to 
it." — Letter  to  the  Lord  Chancellor. 

"  Now  pass  to  the  excellencies  of  her  person.  The  view 
of  them  wholly  and  not  severally  do  make  so  sweet  a  won- 
der as  I  fear  to  divide  them  again.  .  .  .  For  the  beauty 
and  many  graces  of  her  presence,  what  colors  are  fine 
enough  for  such  a  portraiture  ?  " — Discourse  in  Praise  of 
the  Queen.* 

("  It  is  the  wisdom  of  crocodiles,  that  shed  tears  when  they 
would  devour." —  Of  Wisdom  for  a  Ifan's  Self. 

"Neither  do  you  deny,  honorable  Lords,  to  acknowledge 
safety,  profit,  and  power  to  be  of  the  substance  of  ^joZ/c//,  and  fame 
and  honor  rather  to  be  as  flowers  of  well  ordained  actions  than 
as  good  ends." —  Gesta  Grayorum. 

"  Never  did  base  and  rotten  policy. 
Color  her  workings  with  such  deadly  wounds." 
— /.,  Henry  IV.,  L,  3. 
"  Wherein  it  must  be  confessed,  that  heaven  was  made  too 
much  to  bow  to  earth,  and  religion  to  policy." — History  of 
Henry  VII.) 

These  things  indeed  you  have  articulated, 
Proclaimed  at  market-crosses,  read  in  churches, 
To  face  the  garment  of  rebellion 
With  some  fine  color  that  may  please  the  eye. 


And  never  yet  did  insurrection  want 
Such  water-colors  to  impaint  liis  cause." 

— /.,  Henry  IV.,  V.,  1. 
*  Claud.  Disloyal  ? 

D.  John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  jictint  out  her  wickedness." 

—  Much  Ado,  III,  2. 
"  And  this  I  shall  do,  my  Lords,  in  verbis  inasculis  ;  no  flour- 
ishing or  painted  words,  but  such  words  as  are  fit  to  go  before 
deeds." — Speech  on  Taking  his  Seat  in  Chancery. 

"  Good  lord  Boyet,  my  beauty,  though  but  mean, 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  73 

"  In  few,*  they  liurried  ns  aljoard  a,  Imrk  ; 
Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea ;  where  they  prepared 
A  rotten  carcase  of  a  boat,'|*  not  rigg'd, 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast;  " 

See  the  lengthy  description  of  a  ship's  rigging  in  His- 
tory of  the  Whids. 

"  the  very  rats 
Instinctively  have  quit  it;" 
"  Wisdom  for  a  man's  self  is,  in  many  branches  thereof, 
a  depraved  thing :  it  is  the  wisdom  of  rats,  that  will  be 
sure  to  leave  a  house  somewhat  before  it  fall." — 0/  Wis- 
dom for  a  Man's  Self. 

"  there  they  hoist  us, 
To  cry  to  the  sea  that  roar'd  to  us ;  to  sigh 
To  the  windsj  whose  pity,  sighing  back  again, 
Did  us  but  loving  wrong.J 
Mi7\  Alack  !  what  trouble 

Was  I  then  to  you ! 
Pros.  O  !  a  cherubim  § 

Thou  wast  that  did  preserve  me !    Thou  didst  smile, 
Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven," 

Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise." 

—L.  L.  Z.,  //.,  1. 
"  Lend  me  the  flourish  of  all  gentle  tongues, — 

Fie,  painted  rhetoric !  O,  she  needs  it  not." — Id.  IV.,  3. 
*  See  Works,  Vol.  6,  p.  388  ;  Vol.  13,  pp.  68,  203  ;  A^ol.  14, 
p.  494. 

tSee  Works,  Vol.  14,  pp.  322,  437. 

X  See  Works,  Vol.  2,  p.  390.     And  for  a  like  figure :   "  im- 
plying as  if  the  King  slept  out  the  sobs  of  his  subjects,  until  he 
was  awaked  with  the  thunderbolt  of  a  parliament." — Report  of 
Salishury's  Answer'  to  the  Merchants. 
§  See  Works,  Vol.  3,  pp.  152,  296. 


74  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  And  it  leadetli  us  to  fortitude,  for  it  teaclieth  iis  that 
we  should  not  too  maoh  prize  life  which  we  cannot  keep, 
nor  fear  death  which  we  cannot  shun ;  that  he  which  dies 
nobly  doth  live  forever,  and  he  that  lives  in  fear  doth  die 
continually  ;  that  pain  and  danger  be  great  only  by  opin- 
ion, and  that  in  truth  nothing  is  fearful  but  fear  itself." 
— Advice  to  llutland  on  his  Travels.* 

"  But  to  speak  in  a  mean,  the  virtue  of  prosperity  is 
temperance,  the  virtue  of  adversity  is  fortitude,  which  in 
morals  is  the  more  heroical  virtue." — Of  Adversitj. 

"  Wherein  you  have  well  expressed  to  the  world,  that 
there  is  infused  in  your  sacred  hem'tfrom  God  tliat  high 
principle  and  position  of  government." — On  Pacification 
and  Edification  of  the  Church. 

"  When  I  have  cleck'd  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt ;  f 
Under  my  burden  groan' d ;  which  raised  in  nie 
An  undergoing  stomach,  to  bear  up 
Against  what  should  ensue." 

"  There  is  shaped  a  tale  in  London's  forge,:j:  that  beat- 

*  "  Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths; 
The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 
Of  all  the  wonders  that  I  yet  have  heard, 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear ; 
Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end, 
Will  come  when  it  will  come." — Julius  Ccesar  IT.,  3. 

t  For  another  extravagant  reference  to  tears  see  Works,  Vol. 
7,  p.  141. 

I  "  But  now  behold, 
In  the  quick  forge  and  working-house  of  thought. 
How  London  doth  pour  out  her  citizens !  " 

— Henri/  V.,  V.,  Chorus. 
'■^  Mrs.  Page.  Come  to  the  forge  Avith  it  then;  shape  it:    I 
would  not  have  things  cool." — Mer.  Wives  of  Wind.,  IV.,  2. 
(See  context.) 

"  Here  he  comes :  to  beguile  two  hours  in  a  sleep,  and  then 
to  return  and  swear  the  lies  \\q  forges." — All's  Well,  IV.,  1. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  76 

fith  apacn  at  this  time.  That  I  should  deliver  opinion  to 
the  Queen  in  my  Lord  of  Essex'  cause ;  first,  that  it  was 
l^raemunire ;  *  and  nov/  last,  that  it  was  high  treason  ; 
and  this  opinion  to  be  in  opposition  and  encounter  of  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice's  opini<ni  and  the  Attorney-General's. 
My  Lord,  I  thank  God  my  wit  serveth  me  not  to  deliver 
any  opinion  to  the  Queen,  which  my  stomach  serveth  me 
not  to  maintain;  one  and  the  same  conscience  guiding 
nudjortlfi/mg  me.  But  the  untruth  of  this  fable  God 
and  my  sovereign  can  witness,  and  there  I  leave  it ;  know- 
ing no  more  remedy  against  lies,  than  others  do  against 
libels." — Letter  to  Uoivard. 

"  This  wrought  in  the  earl,  as  in  a  haughty  stomach  it 
useth  to  do ;  for  the  ignominy  printed  deeper  than  the 
grace." 

"  And  being  a  man  of  stomach  and  hardened  by  his 
former  troubles  refused  to  pay  a  mite." — History  oj 
Henry  VII.  j^ 

*  Possibly  upon  another  occasion,  he  actually  handled  this  in- 
tricate matter,  over  which  he  had  such  thorough  command  : 

"  So  in  '  King  Henry  VIII.'  we  have   an  equally  accurate 
statement  o£  the  omnivorous  nature  of  a  writ  of  ^9>•ae«^w?^^'?'e. 
The  Duke  of  Suffolk,  addressing  Cardinal  Wolsey,  says : 
"Lord  Cardinal,  the  King's  fui'ther  pleasure  is, 
Because  all  those  things  you  have  done  of  late, 
By  your  power  legative  within  this  kingdom, 
Fall  into  the  compass  of  a  praemtinire, 
That  therefore  such  a  writ  be  used  against  you. 
To  forfeit  all  your  goods,  lands,  tenements, 
Chatties,  and  whatsoever,  and  to  be 
Out  of  the  King's  protection." 

—  Lord  Campbell's  Shakespeare" s  Legal  Acquirements. 
If  the  reader  will  consult  Bacon's  Works,  Vol.  7,  p.  741 ; 
Vol.  11,  p.  270 ;  Vol.  12,  p.  388,  and  then  read  Jlenrij  VIII., 
III.,  2,  he  will  more  clearly  apprehend  the  complexity  of  this 
2?raem««i«'e,'Bacon's  mastery  of  it,  and  the  aptness  of  its  appli- 
cation to  Wolsey's  ecclesiastical  offences. 

t  "Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland, 'through  my  host, 


76  FRANCIS    BACON 

" J/m'.  How  came  we  ashore  ? 

Pro8.  By  Providence  divine." 

The  following,  from  a  multitude  of  examples,  may  well 
command  present  attention,  coming  from  a  man  of  such 
deep  insight,  who  was  anything  but  a  fanatic : 

"  In  this  fourteenth  year  also,  hy  God's  loonderful jirov- 
idence,  that  boweth  things  unto  his  will,  and  hangeth  great 
weights  upon  small  wires,  there  fell  out  a  trifling  and  un- 
toward accident,  that  drew  on  great  and  happy  effects." 
— History  oj"  Henry  VII.* 

"  A  matter  that  we  cannot  ascribe  to  the  skill  or  tem- 
per of  our  own  carriage,  but  to  the  guiding  and  conduct- 
ing of  God's  holy  providence  and  will,  the  true  author  of 
all  unity  and  agreement." — Considtation  Concerning  the 
Union  of  England  and  /Scotla?id.-\ 

That  he  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 
Let  him  depart." — Henry  V.,  IV.,  3. 
"High-stomached  are  they  both  and  full  of  ire." 

— Richard  II.,  I.,  1. 
"  Of  an  unbounded  stomach,  ever  ranking 
Himself  with  princes." — Henry  VIII.,  IV.,  2. 
*  "  He  that  of  greatest  works  is  finisher 
Oft  does  them  by  the  weaAest  minister : 

Great  floods  have  flown 

From  simple  sources  ;  and  great  seas  have  dried. 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied." 

—AlVs  Well,  II.,  1. 
t  "The  third  part,  which  is  History  of  Providence,  has  indeed 
been  handled  by  the  pens  of  some  pious  writers,  but  not  with- 
out partiality.  Its  business  is  to  observe  that  divine  correspond- 
ence which  sometimes  exists  between  God's  revealed  and  secret 
will.  For  though  the  judgments  and  counsels  of  God  are  so 
obscure  that  to  the  natural  man  they  are  altogether  inscrutable, 
yea,  and  many  times  bidden  from  the  eyes  of  those  that  behold 
them  from  the  tabernacle,  yet  at  sometimes  it  pleases  tlie  Divine 
Wisdom,  for  the  better  establishment  of  his  people  and  the  con- 
fusion of  those  who  are  without  God  in  the  world,  to  write  it 
and  report  it  to  view  in  such  capital  letters  that  (as  the  prophet 


1^-    Vyv^vi    VUth 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE. 

"  Some  food  we  had  and  some  fresh  water, 
A  noble  NeapoUtan,  Gonzalo, 

saith)  '  He  that  runneth  by  may  read  it ';  that  is,  that  mere 
sensual  persons  and  voluptuaries,  who  hasten  by  God's  judg- 
ments, and  never  bend  or  fix  their  thoughts  upon  them,  are 
nevertheless,  though  running  fast  and  busy  about  other  things, 
forced  to  discern  them.  Such  are  late  and  unlooked  for  judg- 
ments ;  deliverances  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  vouchsafed ; 
divine  counsels,  through  tortuous  labyrinths  and  by  vast  cir- 
cuits, at  length  manifestly  accomijlishing  themselves ;  and  the 
like ;  all  which  things  serve  not  only  to  console  the  minds  of 
the  faithful,  but  to  strike  and  convince  the  consciences  of  the 
wicked." — De  Augmentis,  Second  Book,  Chap.  XI. 

"  The  hinge  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  that  upon  which  they  turn, 
is  God's  providential  order.  .  .  .  It  is  commandingly  ethical,  blaz- 
ing forth  the  truth  that  the  government  of  this  moral  sphere  is 
set  against  selfishness,  against  treachery,  against  hypocrisy, 
against  the  madness  of  lust  and  the  unwisdom  of  jealousy.  .  . 
Nowhere  outside  of  the  Scriptures  are  the  sins  of  men  revealed 
with  more  astonishing  and  terrific  power  as  acts  committed 
against  the  divine  moral  order." — Address  on  The  World  of 
Shakesjjeare,  by  Rev.  Dr.  John  Henry  Barrows. 

"God's  secret  judgment." — //.,  Henry  VI.,  III.,  2. 
"O  God!  I  fear  thy  justice  will  take  hold 
On  me,  and  you,  and  mine,  and  yours,  for  this." 
— Richard  III.,  II.,  1. 
"  That  high  All-Seer,  which  I  dallied  with, 
Hath  turn'd  my  feigned  prayer  on  my  head, 
And  given  in  earnest  what  I  begg'd  in  jest. 
Thus  doth  He  force  the  swords  of  wicked  men 
To  turn  their  own  points  on  their  master's  bosoms ; 

Come,  lead  me,  officers,  to  the  block  of  shame, 
Wrong  hath  but  wrong,  and  blame  the  due  of  blame." 

—  Id.,  V.,1. 
*'  O  God !  if  my  deep  prayers  cannot  appease  thee. 
But  thou  wilt  be  avenged  on  my  misdeeds, 
Yet  execute  thy  wrath  on  me  alone." 

—  Richard  III.,  I,  J/.. 
"  Take  heed ;  for  He  holds  vengeance  in  his  hand, 


78  FRANCIS    BACON 

Out  of  his  charity  * —  being  then  appointed 
Master  of  this  design  —  did  give  us;" 

We  are  reminded  of  Bacon's  mot,  found  in  the  report 
of  his  Sjieech  against  the  repeal  of  the  Statute  of  Charlt- 
ahle  Trusts  : 

"  That  the  last  Parliament  there  were  so  many  bills  for 
the  relief  of  the  poor  that  he  called  it  a  Feast  of  Charity." 

Again,  in  a  flame  of  poetic  fervor,  bursting  forth  even 
amidst  the  dry  husks  of  the  law : 

"  Then  I  do  wish  that  this  rude  mass  and  chaos  of  a 
good  deed  were  directed  rather  to  a  solid  merit  and  dur- 
able charity  than  to  a  blaze  of  glory,  that  will  crackle  a 
little  in  talk  and  quickly  extinguish." — Advice  Coiicern- 
ing  Sutton  s  Estate. 

And  again,  in  the  enunciation  of  a  vital  truth : 

"  But  these  be  heathen  and  profane  passages,  which 

To  hurl  upon  their  heads  that  break  liis  laws." 

—  Richard  III.,  I.,  J,^. 
"  Edgar.  What  means  this  bloody  knife  ? 

Gent.  'T  is  hot,  it  smokes ; 

It  came  even  from  the  heart  of  —  O,  she's  dead. 

Albany.  Who  dead?  speak,  man. 

Gent.  Your  lady,  sir,  your  lady :  and  her  sister 

By  her  is  poison'd ;  she  confesses  it. 

Edmund.  I  was  contracted  to  them  both ;  all  three 

Now  marry  in  an  instant. 

Alhanij.  Produce  the  bodies,  be  they  alive  or  dead ! 

This  judgment  of  the  heavens,  that  makes  us  tremble, 

Touches  us  not  with  pity." —  King  Lear,  V.,  3. 
''  Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 

When  our  dear  plots  do  pall ;  and  that  should  teach  us 

There 's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends 

Rough-hew  them  how  we  will." — Hamlet,  V.,  2. 

*  "That  he  would  confirm  and  ratify  all  just  privileges. 

This  his  bounty  and  amity  ;  as  a  king,  royally  ;  as  King  James, 
sweetly  and  kindly,  out  of  his  good  nature." — Note  of  Report 
on  Compromise  Suggested  hg  the  King. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  79 

grasp  at  shadows  greatei^  than  the  substance ;  but  the  true 
religion  and  holy  Christian  faith  lays  hold  of  the  reality 
itself,  by  imprinting  upon  men's  souls,  Charity,  which  is 
excellently  called '  the  bond  of  perfection,'  because  it  com- 
prehends and  fastens  all  virtues  together.  ...  So  cer- 
tainly if  a  man's  mind  be  truly  inflamed  with  charity,  it 
raises  him  to  a  greater  perfection  than  all  the  doctrines 
of  morality  can  do  ;  which  is  but  a  sophist  in  comparison 
of  the  other.  Nay,  further,  as  Xenophon  truly  observed, 
'  that  all  other  affections  though  they  raise  the  mind,  yet 
they  distort  and  disorder  it  by  their  ecstasies  and  excesses, 
but  love  only  at  the  same  time  exalts  and  composes  it '; 
so  all  the  other  qualities  which  we  admire  in  man,  though 
they  advance  nature,  are  yet  subject  to  excess ;  whereas 
Charity  alone  admits  of  no  excess."  ^ — De  Augme?itis, 
Seventh  Book,  Chap.  III. 

Is  not  the  word  "  charity,"  in  the  text,  used  in  this 
higher  sense  ?     Bacon  says : 

"  And  for  an  example  of  this  kind,  1  did  ever  allow  the 
discretion  and  tenderness  of  the  Rhemish  translation  in 
this  point ;  that  finding  in  the  original  the  word  ayant/ 
and  never  i'poD^y  do  ever  translate  Charity  and  never  Love, 
because  of  the  indifferency  and  equivocation  of  that  word 
with  impure  love." — Pacijication  and  Unification  of  the 
Church. 

"with 
Kicli  garments,  linens,  stuffs,  and  necessaries,* 
Which  since  have  steadied  much ;  so,  of  his  gentle- 
ness, ^  -^  ^  ^  ^^  ^ 
Knowing  I  loved  my  books,  he  furnish'd  me,    \  y  •  ^       /~T 
From  mine  own  library,  with  volumes  that  / 
I  prize  above  my  dukedom."                              -^    ^^-«-  IC,.^  ( 

"  Again  for  the  pleasure  and  delight  of  knowledge  and      kCu 
learning,  it  far  surpasseth  all  other  in  nature.   .  .   .  We     j 

*  See  Works,  Vol.  6,  p.  150  ;  Vol.  8,  p.  158  ;  Vol.  14,  p.  544. 


80  FRANCIS    BACON 

see  in  all  other  pleasures  there  is  satiety,  and  after  they 
be  used  their  verdure  departeth ;  .  .  .  But  of  knowledge 
there  is  no  satiety,  but  satisfaction  and  appetite  are  per- 
petually interchangeable  ;  and  therefore  appeareth  to  be 
good  in  itself  simply,  without  fallacy  or  accident.  .  .  . 
But  the  images  of  men's  wits  and  knowledges  remain  in 
books,  exempted  from  the  wrong  of  time  and  capable  of 
l)erpetual  renovation.  Neither  are  they  fitly  to  be  called 
images,  because  they  generate  still,  and  cast  their  seeds  in 
the  minds  of  others,  provoking  and  causing  infinite  actions 
and  opinions  in  succeeding  ages." — Adva?iceme?it  of 
Learning,  First  Book. 

"Mir.  Would  I  might 

But  ever  see  that  mau ! 
Pros.  Now  I  arise  :  —  \_Resumes  his  mantle. 
Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow.* 
Here  in  this  island  we  arrived ;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  schoolmaster,  made  thee  more  profit 
Than  other  j^rincess'  can,  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours,  and  tutors  not  so  careful." 

"  But  what  I  mean  is,  that  princes  educated  in  courts, 
as  the  undoubted  heirs  of  a  crown,  are  corrupted  by  in- 
dulgence, and  thence  generally  rendered  less  capable  and 
less  moderate  in  the  management  of  affairs." — In  Memory 
of  Queen  Elizahetli. 

"  Courts  are  but  superficial  schools, 
to  dandle  fools." 

— Parody  on  a  Greek  Epigram. 

'^3Iir.  Heavens  thank  you  for't!    And  now,  I  pray 

you,  Sir, 
(For  still  'tis  beating  in  my  mind,)  your  reason 
For  raising  this  sea-storm  ?  " 

*See  Works,  Vol.  11,  p.  200 ;  Vol.  14,  p.  489. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  81 

"  I  am  now  beating  my  brains  (among  many  cases  of 
his  Majesty's  business)  touching  the  redeeming  the  time 
in  this  business  of  cloth." — Letter  to  VilUers. 

"  If  he  be  not  apt  to  beat  over  matters,  and  to  call  up 
one  thing  to  prove  and  illustrate  another,  let  him  study 
the  lawyer's  cases." —  Of  Studies. 

"  So  all  opinions  and  doubts  are  beaten  over,  and  then 
men,  having  made  a  taste  of  all,  wax  weary  of  variety." 
—  Of  the  Interpretation  of  Nature.* 

"  Pros.         Know  thus  far  forth, 
By  accident  most  strange,  bountiful  Fortune, — 
Now  my  dear  lady — hath  mme  enemies 
Brought  to  this  shore : " 

"  All  wise  men,  to  decline  the  envy  of  their  own  virtues, 
use  to  ascribe  them  to  Providence  and  Fortune ;  for  so 
they  may  the  better  assume  them  :  and  besides,  it  is  great- 
ness in  a  man  to  be  the  care  of  higher  powers.  .  .  .  and 
it  hath  been  noted  that  those  who  ascribe  openly  too  much 
to  their  own  wisdom  and  policy  end  unfortunate.  It  is 
written  that  Timotheus,  the  Athenian,  after  he  had,  in  the 

*  "  Sir,  my  liege, 
Do  not  infect  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The  strangeness  of  this  business." 

— Tempest^  V.,  1. 

"This  something-settled  matter  in  his  heart; 
Whereon  his  brains  still  beating,  puts  him  thus 
From  fashion  of  himself." — Hamlet,  III.,  1. 
"Which  is  a  point  not  much  stirred,  though  Sir  Lionel  Cran- 
field  hath  ever  beaten  upon  it  in  his  speech  with  me." — Letter 
to  the  King. 

"  I  '11  presently 
Acquaint  the  queen  of  your  most  noble  offer ; 
Who,  but  to-day,  hammer  d  of  this  design, 
But  durst  not  tempt  a  minister  of  honor. 
Lest  she  should  be  denied." 

—  Winter's  Tale,  IL,  2. 


82  FRANCIS    BACON 

ujcouiit  he  gave  to  the  state  of  his  government,  often 
interlaced  this  speech,  '  and  in  this  Fortune  had  no  part,' 
never  prospered  in  anything  he  undertook  afterwards." — 
Of  Fortune.^' 

"  I  now  come  to  the  causes  of  these  errors,  and  of  so 
long  a  continuance  in  them  through  so  many  ages  ;  which 
are  very  many  and  very  potent ;  —  that  all  v/onder  how 
these  considerations  which  I  bring  forward  should  have 
escaped  men's  notice  till  now,  may  cease ;  and  the  only 
wonder  be,  how  now  at  last  they  should  have  entered  into 
any  man's  head  and  become  the  subject  of  his  thoughts ; 
which  truly  I  myself  esteem  as  the  result  of  some  happy 
accident^  rather  than  of  any  excellence  of  faculty  in  me  ; 
a  birth  of  Time  rather  than  a  birth  of  Wit." —  Nomim 
Orgamim,  /.,  78.  f 

And  again,  for  it  was  a  favorite  theme : 

"For  otherwise,  if  it  be  believed  as  it  soundeth,  and 
that  a  man  entereth  into  a  high  imagination  that  he  can 
compass  and  fathom  all  accidents,  and  ascribeth  all  suc- 
cesses to  his  drifts  and  reaches,  and  the  contrary  to  his 

^''/f.  Henry.    O  God,  thy  arm  was  here, 
And  not  to  us,  but  to  thy  arm  alone, 
Ascribe  we  all, —  where,  without  stratagem, 
But  in  plain  shock  and  even  play  of  battle, 
AVas  ever  known  so  great  and  little  loss, 
On  one  part  and  on  the  other?  —  take  it,  God ! 
For  it  is  none  but  thine ! 
Exeter.  'Tis  wonderful! 

K.  Henry.    Come,  go  we  in  procession  to  the  village: 
And  be  it  death  proclaimed  through  our  host. 
To  boast  of  this,  or  take  that  ])raise  from  God 
Which  is  his  only." — Henry  V.,  IV.,  8. 
t  "As  it  is,  however, —  my  object  being  to  open  a  new  way 
for  the  understanding,  a  way  by  them  untried  and  unknown, — 
the  case  is  altered ;  party  zeal  and  emulation  are  at  an  end ; 
and  I  appear  merely  as  a  guide  to  point  out  the  road  ;  an  office 
of  small  authority,  and  depending  more  upon  a  kind  of  hick, 
than  upon   any  ability  or  excellency."  —  Preface  to  Novum, 
Organum. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  8.3 

errors  and  sleepings,  it  is  commonly  seen  that  the  even- 
ing fortune  of  that  man  is  not  so  prosperous,  as  of  him 
that  without  slackening  of  his  industry  attributeth  much 
to  felicity  and  providence  above  him." — Discourse  Touch- 
ing Hellas  for  the  Intellectual  Powers. 

"  Thus  scorning  all  the  care  that  Fate  or  Fortune  brings, 
He  makes  the  Heaven  his  book,  his  wisdom  heavenly  things  ; 
Good  thoughts  his  only  friends,  his  life  a  well-spent  age, 
The  earth  his  sober  inn, —  a  quiet  pilgrimage." 

—  Verses  made  by  Mr.  Francis  Bacon.* 

"  and  by  my  prescience  " 

"  Therefore  it  [the  union  of  England  and  Scotland] 
seemed  a  manifest  work  of  Providence  and  case  of  reser- 
vation for  these  times ;  insomuch  as  the  vulgar  conceived 
that  there  was  now  an  end  given  and  a  consummation  to 
superstitious  prophesies,  the  helief  of  fools.,  hut  the  talk 
sometbnes  of  u'ise  men,  and  to  an  ancient  tacit  expecta- 
tion which  had  by  tradition  been  infused  and  inveterated 
into  men's  minds.  But  as  the  best  divinations  and  pre- 
dictions are  the  politic  and  prohahle  foresight  and  con- 
jectures of  vnse  men,  so  in  this  matter  the  providence  of 
King  Henry  the  Seventh  was  in  all  men's  mouths,  who, 
being  one  of  the  deepest  and  most  prudent  princes  of  the 
world,  upon  the  deliberation  concerning  the  marriage  of 
his  eldest  daughter  in  Scotland,  had  by  some  speech 
uttered  by  him  showed  himself  sensible  and  almost  pre- 
scient of  this  event." —  Fragment  of  History  of  Great 
Britain.^ 

*  Works,  Vol.  7,  p.  269. 

t  The  like  profound  philosophy,  based  upon  close  observa- 
tion, is  embodied  in  the  following,  regarding  another  historic 
prophecy : 

" /r.  Henrij.  You,  cousin  Nevil,  as  I  may  remember  — 
When  Richard,  with  his  eye  brimful  of  tears. 
Then  check'd  and  rated  by  Northumberland, 
Did  speak  these  words,  now  proved  a  prophecy : 


84  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  I  find  my  zenith  dotJi  dej^end  ujoon 
A  most  auspicious  star;  whose  influence" 

"  The  third  is,  that  the  two  stars  which  have  always 
beeu  propitious  to  me  —  the  greater  and  the  lesser — are 
now  shining  in  the  world  ;  and  may  thereby,  being  rein- 
forced by  the  auxiliary  and  benignant  rays  of  your  love 
towards  me,  gain  influence  enough  to  put  me  in  some 
position  not  unbefitting  my  former  fortune.  .  .  .  His 
Majesty  addressed  me  not  as  a  criminal,  but  as  a  man 
overthrown  by  a  ^ewi^;es^." — Letter  to  Count  Gondomar 
in  Spain.* 

"  '  Nortliumberland,  thou  ladder,  by  the  which 
My  cousin  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne  ';  — 
Though  then,  heaven  knows,  I  had  no  such  intent, 
But  that  necessity  so  bow'd  the  state 
That  I  and  gi^eatness  were  compell'd  to  kiss :  — 
'  The  time  shall  come,'  thus  did  he  follow  it, 
'  The  time  will  come,  that  foul  sin  gathering  head, 
Shall  break  into  corruption':^ — so  went  on, 
Fortelling  this  same  time's  condition. 
And  the  division  of  our  amity. 
War.  There  is  a  history  in  all  men's  lives,____ 
Figuring  the  nature  of  the  times  deceased; 
The  which  observed,  a  man  may  prophesy, 
With  a  near  aim,  of  the  main  chance  of  things 
As  yet  not  come  to  life :   which  in  their  seeds, 
And  weak  beginnings,  lie  intreasured. 
Such  things  become  the  hatch  and  brood  of  time ; 
And  by  the  necessary  form  of  this. 
King  Richard  might  create  a  perfect  guess, 
That  great  Northumberland,  then  false  to  him. 
Would,  of  that  seed,  grow  to  a  greater  falseness ; 
Which  should  not  find  a  ground  to  root  upon, 
Unless  on  you." — //.,  Henry  IV.,  III.,  1. 

*  Incidentally :  In  another  letter  to  Count  Gondomar,  Bacon 
expresses  the  warmth  of  his  affection  with  truly  poetic  fervor  : 

"  For  me,  what  can  I  do?  I  will  at  least  be  yours,  if  not  in 
xise  and  fruit,  yet  in  desire  and  wish.  Beneath  the  ashes  of  my 
fortune  the  sparks  of  love  shall  ever  remain  alive." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  85 

"  And  therefore  I  shall  say  no  more  of  this  point ;  but 
as  you  (Mr.  Speaker)  did  well  note,  that  when  the  King 
sits  in  Parliament,  and  his  Prelates,  Peers,  and  Commona 
attend  him,  he  is  in  the  exaltation  of  his  orb ;  so  I  wish 
things  may  be  so  carried,  that  he  may  be  in  greatest  se- 
renity and  benignity  of  aspect ;  shining  upon  his  people 
both  in  glory  and  grace." — lieply  to  the  Speakers  Ora- 
tion. 

"  I  see  your  Majesty  is  a  star,  that  hath  benevolent  as- 
pect and  gracious  influence  upon  all  things  that  tend  to 
a  general  good.  This  work  \_Novum  Organum~\  which  is 
for  the  bettering  of  men's  bread  and  wine,  which  are  the 
characters  of  temporal  blessings  and  sacraments  of  eter- 
nal, I  hope  by  God's  holy  providence  will  be  ripened  by 
Csesar's  star." — Letter  to  King  James.* 

"  So  likewise  hath  he  been  in  his  government  a  benign 
or  benevolent  planet  towards  learning  ;  by  whose  influence 

And  in  his  Notes  for  an  hiterview  with  the  King,  he  again 
introduces  this  figure,  with  but  slight  variations : 

"  Ashes  are  good  for  somewhat,  for  lees,  for  salts.  But  I 
hope  I  am  rather  embers  than  ashes,  having  the  heat  of  good 
affections  under  the  ashes  of  my  fortunes." 

The  same  figure,  with  slight  modification,  is  employed  in 
Anton g  OJid  Cleopatra,  V.,  2: 

"  The  gods  !     It  smites  me 
Beneath  the  fall  I  have. —  Pr'thee,  go  hence ; 
Or  I  shall  show  the  cinders  of  my  spirits 
Through  the  ashes  of  my  chance." 
*  "  Some  praises  come  of  good  wishes  and  respects,  which  is 
a  form  due  in  civility  to  kings  and  great  persons,  landando 
pracipere  ;  (To  instruct  by  praising)  when  by  telling  men  what 
tliey  are,  they  represent  to  them  what  tliey  should  be." —  Of 
Praise. 

"Henry,  the  fifth!   thy  ghost  I  invocate ; 
Prosper  this  realm,  keep  it  from  civil  broils ! 
Combat  with  adverse  planets  in  the  heavens ! 
A  far  more  glorious  star  thy  soul  will  make 
Than  Julius  Ctesar." — /.,  Henry  VI.,  L,  1. 


86  FRANCIS    BACON 

those  nurseries  and  gardens  of  learning,  the  Universities, 
were  never  more  in  flower  nor  fruit." — Charge  against 
St.  John. 

"Now  did  the  sign  reign,  and  the  constellation  was 
come,  under  which  Perkin  should  appear." — History  of 
Henry  VII.* 

"  If  now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
Will  ever  after  droop. —  Here  cease  more  question ; 
Thou  art  inclined  to  sleep;  'tis  a  good  dulness,f 
And  give  it  way ; — I  know  tliou  canst  not  choose. — 

\_Mira)ida  sleeps.'^ 
"  In  the  third  place  I  set  down  reputation,  because  of 

*  " Happy  star,  reign  now !  " — A  Winters  Tale,  I.,  2. 
"  I  know  thy  constellation  is  right  apt 
For  this  aiffair." — Twelfth  Night,  /.,  4. 

"  There  's  some  ill  planet  reigns : 
I  must  be  patient,  till  the  heavens  look 
With  an  aspect  more  favorable." 

—A  Winters  Tale,  II.,  1. 
"  And  therefore  is  the  glorious  planet,  Sol, 
In  noble  eminence  enthroned  and  sphered 
Amidst  the  other ;  whose  med'cinable  eye 
Corrects  the  ill  asjiects  of  planets  evil." 

— Troll,  and  Cress.,  I,  3. 
"  Under  the  allowance  of  your  great  aspect, 
Whose  influence,  like  the  wreath  of  radiant  fire 
On  flickering  Phoebus'  front." — King  Lear,  11,  2. 
"  This  is  the  excellent  foppery  of  the  world,  that,  when  we 
are  sick  in  fortune,  (often  the  surfeit  of  our  own  behavior,)  we 
make  guilty  of  our  disasters  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  stars:   as  if 
we  were  villains  on  necessity ;  fools  by  heavenly  compulsion ; 
knaves,  thieves,  and  treachers  by  spherical  predominance ;  drunk- 
ards, liars,  and  adulterers  by  an  enforced  obedience  of  plan- 
etary influence  ;  and  all  that  wo  are  evil  in,  by  a  divine  thrust- 
ing on." — Id.,  /.,  2. 

t  See  Works,  Vol.  2,  pp.  2G3,  580  ;  Vol.  5,  pp.  278,  313. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  87 

the  preemptory  tides  aud  currents  it  hath ;  which  if  they 
be  not  taken  in  their  due  time  are  seldom  recovered,  it 
being  extremely  hard  to  play  an  after-game  of  reputation." 
— Advancement  of  Learning,  Second  Book. 

"  And  if  you  had  not  been  short-sighted  in  your  own 
fortune  (as  I  think)  you  might  have  had  more  use  of  me. 
But  that  tide  is  passed." —  Letter  to  Sir  Edivard  Cohc. 

"  that  the  riches  of  any  occasion,  or  the  tide  of  any  op- 
portunity can  possibly  minister  or  offer  .  .  .  and  that 
you  are  as  well  seen  in  the  periods  and  tides  of  estates, 
as  in  your  own  circle  and  way." — Letter  to  Cecil. 

"  And  thirdly,  particular  conspiracies  have  their  peri- 
ods of  time,  within  which  if  they  be  not  taken,  they  van- 
ish."—  Charge  Against  Oioen. 

"  Yet  because  the  opportunity  of  your  Majesty's  so  ur- 
gent occasion  fliethaway." — Advice  Touching  the  Calling 
of  Parliament. 

"  For  the  time,  if  ever  Parliament  was  to  be  measured 
by  the  hour-glass,  it  is  this  ;  in  regard  of  the  instant  occa- 
sion flying  away  irrevocably." — Heply  to  the  Sj^eakers 
Oration. 

"  For  occasion  (as  it  is  in  the  common  verse)  '  turneth 
a  bald  noddle  after  she  hath  presented  her  locks  in  front, 
and  no  hold  taken ;'  or,  at  least,  turneth  the  handle  of  the 
bottle  first  to  be  received,  and  after  the  belly,  which  is 
hard  to  clasp." — Of  Delays.^' 

*  "  To  take  the  saf  st  occasion  by  the  front 
To  bring  you  in  again." — Othello,  III.,  1. 
"Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top." 

—AlVs  Well,  v.,  3. 
"  and,  if  he  found  her  accordant,  he  meant  to  take  the  pres- 
ent time  by  the  top,  and  instantly  break  with  you  of  it." — Much 
Ado,  L,  2. 

("  And  to  Geo.  Raleigli  the  Sergeant  Major,  to  whom  he  did 
use  the  like  discountenances  in  ])ublic,  who  took  it  more  ten- 
derly and  complained  and  brake  with  him  about  it,  he  did  onf  m 
himself  more  plainly."  —  Declaration  Concernimj  Sir  W. 
Raleigh.)  ^^^^^^^ 


88  FRANCIS   BACON 


Prospero  here  concludes  his  narrative  ;  and  in  review- 
ing the  work,  the  Seventy-sixth  Sonnet  is  brought  forcibly 
to  mind.  How  applicable  the  Poet's  words,  how  deeply 
significant,  and  how  true  ! 

"  Why  is  my  verse  so  barren  of  new  pride, 
So  far  from  variation  or  quick  change? 
Why  with  the  time  do  I  not  glance  aside 
To  new-found  methods  and  to  compounds  strange? 
Why  write  I  still  all  one,  ever  the  same, 
..,    \.-  :  And  keep  invention  in  a  noted  weed, 

i^'i?  .'yu^„/v  That  evert/  woixl  doth  almost  tell  my  name, 

Shewing  their  birth,  and  lohere  they  did iJ^oceedV^ 
The  word  "  weed,"  so  prominent  in  the  verse,  one  mem- 
ber in  the  comparison,  is  obviously  a  symbol,  standing  for 

"  And  are  enforced  from  our  most  quiet  sphere 
By  the  rough  torrent  of  occasion." 

— //.,  Ee7iry  IV.,  IV.,  1. 

"  For  this, 
I'll  never  follow  thy  pall'd  fortunes  more. — 
Who  seeks  and  will  not  take,  when  once  'tis  offered, 
Shall  never  find  it  more." — Ant.  and  Cleo.,  II.,  7. 

"  I  cannot,  lord ;  I  have  important  business, 
The  tide  whereof  is  now." — Troil.  and  Ores.,  V.,  1. 

"Yea,  watch 
His  pettish  lunes,  his  ebbs,  his  flows,  as  if 
The  passage  and  whole  carriage  of  this  action 
Rode  on  his  tide." — lb.,  II.,  3. 

('•But  my  Lord  Coke  floweth  according  to  his  own  tides, 
and  not  according  to  the  tides  of  business."  —  Letter  to  the 
King.) 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men. 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries. 
On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat ; 
And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 
Or  lose  our  ventures." — Julius  Ccesar,  IV.,  3. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  89 

some  literary  work  of  the  Poet  of  greater  invention  *  than 
the  Sonnets.  Bacon  uses  the  identical  symbol  in  his  cel- 
ebrated prayer,  found  in  manuscript  among  his  papers 
after  his  death : 

"  The  state  and  bread  of  the  poor  and  oppressed  have 
been  precious  in  mine  eyes :  I  have  hated  all  cruelty  and 
hardness  of  heart :  I  have  (though  in  a  despised  loeed) 
procured  the  good  of  all  men." 

In  his  Advancement  of  Learning,  Second  Book,  he  has 
given  us  an  adequate  interpretation  of  the  symbol : 

"  In  this  third  part  of  learning,  which  is  Poetry,  I  can 
report  no  deficiency.  For  being  as  a  plant  that  cometh 
of  the  lust  of  the  earth,  without  a  formal  seed,  it  hath 
sprung  up  and  spread  abroad  more  than  any  other  kind. 
But  to  ascribe  unto  it  that  which  is  due  ;  for  the  express- 
ing of  affections,  passions,  corruptions,  and  custt)ms,  we 
are  beholden  to  poets,  more  than  to  philosophers'  works  ; 
and  for  wit  and  eloquence  not  much  less  than  to  orators' 
harangues." 

And  again  in  the  Sixth  Book : 

"As  to  poetry,  both  with  regard  to  its  fable  and  its 
verse,  it  is  like  a  luxuriant  plant,  sprouting  not  from  seed, 
but  by  the  mere  vigor  of  the  soil ;  whence  it  everywhere 
creeps  up,  and  spreads  itself  so  wide  that  it  were  endless 
to  be  solicitous  about  its  defects." 

And  so  it  appears  that  after  all  we  have  but  exempli- 
fied the  Poet's  own  thought ;  tracing  in  this  "  weed  "  the 
origin  of  almost  every  word, 

"  Shewing  their  birth,  and  where  they  did  proceed." 

If  the  reader  will  presently  but  attempt  to  thus  anno- 
tate any  other  verse,  of  any  period,  from  any  prose,  either 
of  its  author  or  of  any  contemporary,  for  example  one  of 

*  "  Tlie  invention  of  young  men  is  more  lively  than  tliat  of 
old,  and  imaginations  stream  into  their  minds  better,  and,  as  it 
were,  more  divinely." — Of  Youth  and  Age. 


90  FRANCIS    BACON 

Lowell's  poems,  not  excepting  his  noted  Blgelow  Pai^rs 
(first  published  under  2i  pseudonym)^  his  experience  of 
its  utter  impossibility  will  perhaps  give  him  a  keener  ap- 
prehension of  the  wherefore,  the  occasion,  and  the  unique 
propriety  of  the  Poet's  declaration  regarding  the  plays, 

"  That  every  word  doth  almost  tell  my  name." 
It  certainly  will  quicken,  if  need  be,  his  discernment  of 
the  profound  significance  of  the  foregoing  annotations, 
taken  in  their  entirety.* 

*  Incidentally :  the  possible  difference  between  prose  and 
poetry  by  the  same  author  is  admirably  illustrated  in  Milton. 
The  following  is  the  first  passage  selected  from  Milton's  prose 
by  Taine,  in  his  History  of  Enylish  Literature^  to  which  the 
reader  is  referred  for  further  examples . 

"  What  advantage  is  it  to  be  a  man,  over  it  is  to  be  a  boy  at  school, 
if  we  have  only  escaped  the  ferula,  to  come  under  tlie  fescue  of  an 
imprimatur  ?  If  serious  and  elaborate  writings,  as  if  they  were  no 
more  than  the  theme  of  a  grammar-lad  under  his  pedagogue,  must 
not  be  uttered  without  the  cursory  eyes  of  a  temporizing  and  extem- 
porizing licenser?  He  who  is  not  trusted  witli  his  own  actions,  his 
drift  not  being  known  to  be  e\il,  and  standing  to  the  hazard  of  law 
and  penalty,  has  no  great  argument  to  think  himself  reputed  in  the 
common v^'ealth  whereiu  he  was  born  for  other  than  a  fool  or  a  for- 
eigner. When  a  man  v;rites  to  the  world,  he  summons  up  all  his 
reason  and  deliberation  to  a:;sist  him;  he  searches,  meditates,  is  in- 
dustriovis,  and  likely  consults  and  confers  with  his  judicious  friends; 
after  all  which  done,  he  takes  himself  to  be  informed  in  wiiat  ha 
writes,  as  well  as  any  that  wrote  before  him ;  if  in  this,  the  most  con- 
summate act  of  his  fidelity  and  ripeness,  no  years,  no  industry,  no 
former  proof  of  his  abilities,  can  bring  him  to  that  state  of  maturity, 
as  not  to  be  still  mistrusted  and  suspected,  unless  he  carry  all  his 
considerate  diligence,  all  his  midnight  watchings,  and  expense  of 
Palladian  oil,  to  the  hasty  view  of  an  nnleisured  licenser,  perhaps 
much  his  younger,  perliaps  far  his  inferior  in  judgnient,  perhaps 
one  who  never  knew  the  labor  of  book  writing;  and  if  he  be  not  re- 
pulsed, or  sliglited,  must  appear  in  jjriiit  like  a  puny  with  liis  guar- 
dian, and  his  censor's  hand  on  the  back  of  his  title  to  be  his  bail 
and  surety,  that  he  is  no  idiot  or  seducer;  it  cannot  be  but  a  dis- 
honor and  derogation  to  tlie  author,  to  the  book,  to  the  privilege 
and  dignity  of  learning." — Arcopagilica. 

The  following  are  brief  selections  from  Milton's  best  poetry: 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  91 

In  the  briefest  statement :  There  is  here  developed  a 
phenomenon,  unique  in  literary  history  and  in  human  expe- 

"  Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest,  and  youthful  jollity, 
Quips  and  cranks  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles, 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek; 
Sport  that  wrinkled  care  divides. 
And  laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 
Come,  and  trip  it,  as  you  go. 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe." — U Allegro. 
"  Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment? 
Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast, 
And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 
To  testify  his  hidden  residence. 
How  sweetly  did  they  float  upon  the  wings 
Of  silence,  through  the  empty-vaulted  night, 
At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven  down 
Of  darkness  till  it  smiled  !  " —  Covins. 
"  The  sun,  now  fallen  .  .  . 
Arraying  with  reflected  purple  and  gold 
The  clouds  that  on  his  western  throne  attend: 
Now  came  still  evening  on,  and  twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad. 
Silence  accompanied;  for  beast  and  bird. 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests, 
Were  slunk,  a.ll  but  the  wakeful  nightingale: 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung. 
Silence  was  pleased.     Now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  saphires;  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  Moon, 
Kising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length 
Apparent  queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw." 

—  Paradise  Lost. 
One  unaware  of  the  truth  well  might  ask,  with  complacent 
confidence :  "  How  can  both  he  the  productions  of  the  same  au- 
thor, when  there  is  such  an  obvious  and  integi'al  difference  both 
in  the  stylo  and  in  the  mode  of  thought?"  But  nevertheless, 
such  is  the  fact ;  and  evidently  the  explanation  is  to  he  sought 
in  a  more  intimate  knowledge  of  the  manifold  capacity  of  the 
human  intellect. 


92  FRANCIS    BACON 

rience;  precisely  the  phenomenon  which  the  Poet  himself 
appears  to  have  remarked, —  for  else  are  his  words  incap- 
able of  explanation. 

It  certainly  demands  a  solution.  And  as  with  all  other 
phenomena,  induction,  rather  than  logic,  is  the  efficient 
instrument.  Experience  has  taught  us  that  in  such  mat- 
ters the  scientific  method  is  the  only  safe  and  reliable 
pathway  to  the  truth ;  leading  us  to  the  adoption  of  that 
interpretation  which  best  explains  the  facts  because  of  its 
entire  consistency  with  all  the  details. 

In  this  case,  the  phenomenon  is  manifestly  the  develop- 
ment in  the  verse  and  in  the  prose  writings  of  an  identity 
in  the  workings  of  the  intellect  which  therein  find  expres- 
sion ;  unfolded  continuously  throughout  a  very  wide  range 
of  topics ;  comprising  both  the  personally  accumulated 
materials  of  thought  and  their  distinctive  elaboration  ; 
even  to  the  evolution  of  the  same  ideas  out  of  the  like 
observations  of  nature  and  humanity,  and  their  expression 
in  the  self-same  vocabulary,  metaphor,  and  illustration. 

There  is  one  explanation  which  obviously  is  perfectly 
consistent  with  all  the  details,  and  which,  moreover,  is  an 
adequate  interpretation,  viz.,  that  the  whole  is  indeed  the 
product  of  one  mentality.  And  yet  from  this  we  would 
find  some  way  of  escape.  But  personally,  we  have  been 
unable  to  find  any  other  explanation  which  is  at  all  satis- 
factory. We  can  no  longer  resort  to  Chance  as  a  theory 
of  explanation  ;  for  it  is  entirely  inadequate,  and  in  fact 
has  ceased  to  be  applicable.  While  a  moment's  consid- 
eration makes  it  equally  manifest  that  Plagiarism,  as  a 
theory  of  explanation,  is  utterly  untenable  ;  where  upon  so 
many  and  so  varied  themes,  thought  and  its  phraseology; 
metaphor  and  simile ;  wit  and  wisdom ;  poetic  insight, 
feeling,  and  expression  ;  knowledge  of  the  human  heart ; 
philosophy,  politics,  and  statescraf t ;  legal,  scientific,  and 
classical  lore ;  mental  attributes,  characteristics,  and  pecu- 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  93 

liarities ;  in  a  word,  all  the  elements  that  enter  into  the 
composition  are  so  inextricably  interwoven.  The  "  mnsi(^  " 
is  indeed  full,  rich,  harmonious  —  not  a  jar  or  a  discord. 
The  most  diverse  elements  successively  blend  together  in 
that  union  and  perfect  concord,  that  continuity  and  con- 
gruity  which  characterize  the  work  of  the  individual,  and 
which  is  the  very  sign-manual  of  the  soul.  We  not  only 
find  it  impossible  to  distinguish  any  manifestation  of  two 
distinct  individualities,  but  everywhere  we  sense  the  pres- 
ence, feel  the  subtle  influence,  and  breathe,  as  it  were,  in 
the  atmosphere  of  a  single,  unique,  wonderful  personality, 
— an  atmosphere  made  up  of  the  views,  the  reflected  expe- 
rience, the  associations,  the  memories,  the  learning  and 
the  philosophy  of  this  one  personality. 

In  the  light  of  such  a  manifestation,  and  in  its  continued 
reflection,  argument,  in  its  ordinary  acceptation,  would 
appear  to  be  inopportune  and  out  of  place  ;  as  inappro- 
priate as  would  be  a  resort  to  logic  to  prove  that  gold  is 
heavy,  or  that  water,  ice,  and  steam  are  of  one  and  the 
same  substance. 

Syllogisms  may  perhaps  be  useful  to  one  groping  in  the 
dark,  but  vision  is  vastly  more  welcome  and  satisfying. 
Argument  never  yet  convinced  one  that  the  rainbow  is 
beautiful  —  its  visible  glory  alone  does  the  work. 

And  here  we  behold,  in  deed  and  in  truth,  and  as  in  his 
very  lineaments,  the  "  myriad-minded  "  man,  truly  "  uni- 
versal "  in  the  scope  and  range  of  his  genius.  Though  we 
have  considered  but  a  fragment  of  one  of  the  plays,  we 
are  already  conscious  that  hitherto  we  had  not  appreciated 
one-half  of  the  richness,  the  depth,  the  fulness,  and  the 
subtlety  of  the  thought  present  in  the  mind  of  their  writer 
as  he  composed  them,  or  of  the  tremendous  resources  from 
which  they  were  drawn.  His  "  princely  trunk,"  of  vigor- 
ous growth,  was  so  deeply  and  widely  rooted,  it  put  forth 
so  many  branches  clothed  in  enduring  verdure,  blossomed 


94  FRANCIS    BACON 

in  such  profusion,  and  bore  so  rich,  so  varied,  and  such 
a1)undant  fruit ;  in  short,  the  man  was  so  immeasurably 
greater  than  his  work,  that  any  adequate  discussion  of 
even  the  phases  already  disclosed  would  fill  a  volume, 
while  the  chapter  already  exceeds  its  allotted  length. 

All  this  must,  perforce,  be  left  to  the  reader,  to  his  in- 
sight, his  candor,  and  his  courage,  and  "  to  the  liberty  and 
faculty  of  every  man's  judgment."  * 

One  or  two  fresh  matters,  closely  related,  may  serve  as 
side-lights  upon  the  subject.  We  have  observed  how  many 
rootlets,  reaching  down  into  the  classic  sub-soil,  drew 
thence  nourishment  that  gave  to  flower  and  fruit  borne 
upon  this  tree  a  distinctive  fragrance  and  a  richer  flavor. 
The  amazing  fact  is  developed  that  the  plays  are  indeed 
a  storehouse,  wherein  are  garnered  the  choicest  thoughts 
of  the  brightest  intellects  of  the  ages  ;  priceless  gems,  into 
which  he  so  infused  the  interior  fire  of  his  genius  that  in 
their  new  setting  they  glow  with  a  radiance  far  surpass- 
ing their  pristine  beauty. 

Take  a  single  example  for  illustration.  We  quote  from 
Richard  Grant  White's  scholarly  Essay  on  the  Genius  of 
Shakespeare : 

"  But  when,  in  Henry  the  Fifths  the  Bishop  of  Exeter 
makes  his  comparison  of  government  to  the  subordination 
and  harmony  of  parts  in  music, — 

'  For  government,  though  high  and  low  and  lower, 
Put  into  parts,  doth  keep  in  one  consent ; 
Congruing  in  a  full  and  natural  close, 
Like  music' — 

*  It  is  indeed  a  cheering  sign,  full  of  promise,  that  in  these 
closing  hours  of  the  Nineteenth  century,  people,  imlividuallt/, 
are  rapidly  learning  to  think  for  themselves,  asking  only  for  the 
materials ;  more  and  more  determined  in  the  exercise  of  tliis 
sacred  prerogative  of  personality — a  supreme  regality  inherent 
in  liberty.  O  Liberty !  what  joys  are  enfolded  within  thy  sub- 
stance ! 


AND    ins    SHAKESPEARE.  95 

it  were  more  than  superfluous  to  seek,  as  some  have  sought, 
m  Cicero's  De  llcjmhllca^  the  origin  of  this  simile  ;  for 
that  hook  was  lost  to  literature,  and  unknown  except  by 
name,  until  Angelo  Mai  discovered  it  upon  a  palimpsest 
in  1822.  Cicero  very  probably  borrowed  the  fancy  from 
Plato  ;  but  it  was  not  Shakespeare's  way  to  go  so  far  for 
that  which  lay  near  at  hand.  Music,  and  particularly 
vocal  part-music,  was  much  cultivated  by  our  forefathers 
in  Shakespeare's  time ;  and  he  seems  to  have  been  a  pro- 
ficient in  the  art.  The  comparison  is  one  that  might  well 
occur  to  any  thoughtful  man  who  is  also  a  musician,  but 
it  is  not  every  such  man  who  would  use  it  with  so  much 
aptness  and  make  it  with  so  much  beauty." 

We  are  no  longer  peering  into  darkness,  through  a 
wilderness  of  conjecture  ;  for  we  have  seen  in  clear  vision 
where  and  how  Bacon  caught  the  key-note  of  this  ancient 
melody,  as  it  came  echoing  through  the  ages,  though  many 
of  its  strains  were  lost  to  the  ear.  And  we  know  and  ap- 
preciate with  what  wondrous  skill  this  Master  Composer 
could  adapt  and  develop  the  theme,  striking  new  chords 
and  creating  beautiful  variations,  in  magnificent  har- 
monies ;  for  he  was  both  a  proficient  in  music  and  "  per- 
fected "  in  the  arts  of  government.* 

Paraphrasing  freely :  As  Nero,  in  government,  wound 
up  the  pins  too  high  or  let  them  down  too  low,  winding 
them  high  and  low  and  lower,  so  Bacon,  having  full  ref- 
erence to  one  consent  but  working  contrariously,  besought 
the  King  to  tune  his  instrument  to  that  consent  where 
heart-strings  not  tongue-strings  make  the  music,  that  har- 
mony might  not  end  in  discord,  and  that  the  music  might 
be  the  fuller;  admonishing,  that  not  the  stringing  of  the 
harp  nor  the  tuning  of  it  would  serve,  except  it  be  well 
played  on  from  time  to  time ;  for  government,  j^ut  into 
2}arts,  doth  keep  in  one  consent — as  it  doeth  well  in  church 
music  when  the  greatest  part  of  the  hymn  is  sung  by  one 

*  See  ante,  page  40. 


96  FRANCIS    BACON 

voi(5e,  and  then  the  qniie  at  times  falls  in  sweetly  and 
solemnly — so  the  same  harmony  sorteth  well  in  monarchy 
between  the  King  and  his  Parliament ;  congrning  in  a  fnll 
and  natural  close ;  like  to  a  diapason  in  music,  the  eighth 
rise  or  reach,  a  good  number  and  accord  for  a  close. 

If  such  were  the  preludes  developed  in  tuning  the  harp 
of  the  muses  and  reducing  it  to  perfect  harmony,  where 
is  the  one  who  can  thereafter  touch  the  strings  into  sweeter 
strains,  with  a  better  hand  or  a  better  quill  ?  Certainly 
it  is  not  every  thoughtful  man,  also  a  musician,  who  would 
use  the  comparison  so  aptly,  in  such  comprehensive  but 
perfectly  congruent  harmony,  or  make  it  with  so  much 
beauty. 

Again,  viewing  the  narrative  as  a  whole,  we  perceive 
that  though  feigned,  it  is  essentially  a  history,  and  as  such 
a  masterpiece.  Every  action,  without  exception,  is  traced 
to  its  source  and  efficient  cause.  Even  the  act  of  the  sub- 
ordinate character,  Gonzalo,  arises  "  out  of  his  charity  " 
and  "  of  his  gentleness."*  Not  an  incident  happens  but  its 
origin  is  disclosed,  either  in  human  conduct,  or  when  be- 
yond this,  in  Providence,  or  in  Fortune  or  Fate,  which  to 
Bacon  were  but  other  names  for  Providence. f  And  in 
the  accomplishment  of  these  ends  there  is  afforded  a  mas- 
terly delineation  of  the  play  of  motives,  the  growth  of  am- 
bition, and  the  workings  of  the  human  heart  as  they  were 
developed  under  the  extraordinary  circumstances.    In  ef- 

*  See  History  of  Great  Britain,  ante,  page  51. 

t  See  Novum,  Organum,  II.,  2. 

And  tills  also  reveals  the  philosopher.  We  are  reminded 
of  this  by  an  incidental  remark  of  Charles  Waldstein,  in  his  mX- 
miviiUe  Essays  on  the  Art  of  Pheidias:  "I  shall  do  this,  even 
at  the  risk  of  being  taxed  with  philosophlshig,  by  attempting 
to  account  for  the  origin  of  phenomena  and  their  effect,  instead 
of  merely  remaining  content  with  a  statement  of  dead  facts, 
wliich,  indeed,  from  being  merely  stated  can  hardly  be  at  once 
recognized  as  facts." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  97 

feet,  we  are  given  a  perfect  comprehension  of  the  whole 
matter ;  even  better  than  if  we  had  been  merely  eye-wit- 
nesses ;  while  throughout  the  reader  is  left,  just  as  in  life, 
to  do  for  himself  the  moralizing.  All  in  all,  it  would  ap- 
pear to  be  the  very  heau-ideal  of  a  perfect  history. 

We  ought  now  to  appreciate,  perhaps  as  never  before, 
the  narrowness  and  the  stupidity  of  persons,  evidently 
well-meaning  but  deficient  in  artistic  instincts,  who  have 
severely  censured  Bacon  for  writing  his  History  upon  this 
unique  and  admirable  method — notably  Sir  James  Mack- 
intosh. 

Prof.  Minto,  in  his  Whinual  of  Emjlhli  Prose  Litera- 
ture^ gives  us  an  insight  into  the  situation.  Of  Bacon's 
History  of  Henry  VII.  he  says: 

"  Considered  on  its  own  claims  as  an  explanation  of 
events  by  reference  to  the  feelings  and  purposes  of  the 
chief  actor,  it  is  perhaps  a  better  model  than  any  history 
that  has  been  published  since.  '  He  gives,'  says  Bishop 
Nicholson,  '  as  sprightly  a  view  of  the  secrets  of  Henry's 
council  as  if  he  had  been  President  of  it.'  In  one  respect 
Bacon's  history  is  in  strong  contrast  to  Macaulay's.  In  re- 
lating the  schemes  and  actions  of  such  a  king  as  Henry, 
Macanlay  would  have  overlaid  the  narrative  with  strong- 
expressions  of  approval  or  disapproval.  Bacon  writes 
calmly,  narrating  facts  and  motives  without  any  comment 
of  a  moral  nature.  .  .  .  On  this  ground  he  is  visited  with 
a  sonorous  declamation  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh  —  as  if 
his  not  improving  the  occasion  were  a  sign  that  he  aj)- 
proved  of  what  had  been  done.  Bacon  wrote  upon  a  prin- 
ciple that  is  beginning  to  be  pretty  widely  accepted  as  re- 
gards personal  histories  claiming  to  be  impartial — namely, 
that  '  It  is  the  true  office  of  history  to  represent  the  events 
themselves  together  with  the  counsels,  and  to  leave  the  ob- 
servations and  conclusions  thereupon  to  the  liberty  and 
faculty  of  every  man's  judgment.'  He  does  not  seek  to 
seal  up  historical  facts  from  the  useful  office  of  pointing 


98  FRANCIS    BACON 

a  moral ;  he  only  held  that  the  moralizing  should  not  inter- 
fere with  the  narrative."  * 

Spedding  says  of  Bacon's  History : 

"  To  educe  a  living-likeness  of  the  man  and  the  time,  to 
detect  the  true  relations  of  events,  and  to  present  them  to 
the  reader  in  their  proper  succession  and  proportions,  was 
the  task  which  he  now  undertook.  In  this,  which  under 
such  conditions  was  all  he  could  attempt,  he  succeeded  so 
well  that  he  has  left  later  historians  httle  to  do.  .  .  .  The 
facts  he  was  obliged,  for  the  reasons  above  stated,  to  take 
and  leave  almost  as  he  found  them;  but  the  effect  of  his 
treatment  was  like  that  of  bringing  a  light  into  a  dark 
room :  the  objects  are  there  as  they  were  before,  but  now 
you  can  distinguish  them." 

And  again:  "Every  history  which  has  been  written 
since  has  derived  all  its  light  from  this,  and  followed  its 
guidance  in  every  question  of  importance  ...  as  a  study 
of  character  in  action  and  a  specimen  of  the  art  of  histor- 
ical narrative,  it  comes  nearer  to  the  merit  of  Thucydides 
than  any  English  history  that  I  know." 

He  concludes  a  vigorous  defence  of  Bacon's  work  against 
the  charge  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh  in  these  forcible 
words : 

"  It  is  enough  to  say  that  in  that  book  which  all  who 
profess  and  call  themselves  Christians  are  bound  to  ac- 
knowledge as  the  highest  authority,  the  most  odious  of  all 
treasons,  the  most  unjust  of  all  judgments,  the  most  pa- 
thetic of  all  tales  of  martyred  innocence,  is  related  four 
times  over  without  a  single  indignant  comment  or  a  single 
vituperative  expression." 

*  "  The  historian  we  are  told  must  not  leave  his  readers  to 
themselves.  He  must  not  only  biy  the  facts  hefore  them:  he 
must  tell  them  what  he  himself  thinks.  In  my  opinion,  this  is 
precisely  what  he  ought  not  to  do.  Bishop  Butler  says  some- 
where that  the  best  hook  which  could  be  written  would  he  a 
hook  consisting  only  of  premises,  from  which  the  readers  should 
draw  conclusions  for  themselves." — Froude. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  99 

Truly,  things  need  but  to  be  portrayed  in  their  simple 
reality  to  be  read  aright,  in  their  true  significance,  and  in 
an  unapproachable  power  over  the  soul. 

"Truth  needs  no  color  with  his  color  fix'd; 
Beauty  no  pencil,  beauty's  truth  to  lay; 
But  best  is  best,  if  never  iutermix'd." 

— Sonnet  CI.* 

Bacon  himself  said  in  the  beginning  what  may  prove  to 
be  the  final  word :  "  But  for  a  man  who  is  professedly 
writing  a  Perfect  History  to  be  everyv/here  introducing 
political  reflections,  and  thereby  interrupting  the  narra- 
tive, is  unreasonable  and  wearisome.  For  though  every 
wise  history  is  pregnant,  as  it  were,  wath  political  precepts 
and  warniiigs,  yet  the  writer  himself  should  not  play  the 
midwife." 

These  words  of  the  Master  of  his  Art  bespeak  the  origi- 
nality, the  imperative  artistic  impulse  reaching  forth 
towards  perfection,  the  implicit  confidence  in  man's  inher- 
ent pov/er  of  discernment  and  the  limitless  patience  in 
awaiting  its  development,  that  were  so  characteristic  of 
his  mighty  genius :  and  they  are  also  a  sufficient  ansv/er 
to  the  same  criticism  made  by  Birch  and  others  upon  the 
plays, — those  illumined  histories  of  human  life  in  its  mani- 
fold experiences.! 

*  "  For  it  is  the  true  office  of  history  to  represent  the  events 
themselves  together  with  the  counsels,  and  to  leave  the  observa- 
tions and  conclusions  thereupon  to  the  liberty  and  faculty  of 
every  man's  judgment.  But  mixtures  are  things  irregular, 
whereof  no  man  can  define." — Advancement  of  Learning,  Sec- 
ond Book. 

t  Regarding  the  historical  plays,  the  historian,  Froude,  sig- 
nificantly remarks :  "  The  most  perfect  English  history  which 
exists  is  to  be  found,  in  my  opinion,  in  the  historica,!  plays  of 
Shakespeare.  .  .  .  Shakespeare's  object  was  to  exhibit  as  faitli- 
f  ally  as  he  possibly  could,  the  exact  character  of  the  great  actors 
in  the  national  drama  —  the  circumstances  which  surrounded 
them,  and  the  motives,  internal  and  external,  by  which  they 


too  FRANCIS    BACON 

Bacon  evidently  patterned  after  the  art  of  the  Almighty, 
whose  works  are  indeed  revelations  to  opened  eyes,  though 
often  meaningless  to  the  stupid. 

And  now,  in  closing  the  chapter,  one  request  is  made 
of  the  reader,  to  whom  these  data  have  been  presented 
almost  without  comment,  and  who  is  thus  thrown,  as  was 
the  writer,  directly  upon  tlie  exercise  of  his  own  powers, 
in  untrammeled  freedom  of  thought.  He  is  asked,  in  all 
earnestness,  however  he  may  be  inclined,  to  refrain  from 
coming  to  an  immediate  conclusion,  holding  his  judgment 
still  in  suspense.  Many  important  aspects  of  the  matter 
yet  remain  to  be  considered ;  and  if,  in  passing  them  in 
review,  abundant  confirmation  be  found  on  every  hand ; 
if  all  the  elements,  as  they  are  successively  developed,  con- 
tinue to  fit  together  integrally ;  harmonious  both  within 
and  without,  in  perfect  consistence  with  each  other  and  in 
continuation  of  the  actual  at  every  point,  the  mind  will 
then  come  happily  to  a  final  conviction,  in  a  more  endur- 
ing stability  and  rest.  We  had  almost  said,  In  volum 
festina  lente^  for  so  here  the  joy  will  be  the  deeper  and  the 
'fuller. 

If  he  be  so  disposed,  let  him  regard  this  merely  as  the 
presentation  of  what  lawyers  formally  term  "  a  j^t'irnu 
facie  case  ";  as  a  platform  upon  which  he  will  mount  and 
from  thence  survey  the  oj)ening  prospect ;  or  rather,  as  a 
vestibule,  through  which  he  enters  and  engages  in  the  ex- 
]iloration  of  what  possibly  may  prove  to  be  a  very  Par- 
thenon of  human  greatness. 

were  influenced.  To  know  this  is  to  know  all.  The  reader 
can  form  his  own  tlieovies.  .  .  .  No  such  directness  of  insight, 
no  su(!h  breadth  of  synii^athy,  has  since  been  applied  to  the 
writing  of  English  history." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  101 


CHAPTER   II. 

Bacon's  "new  birth  "  into  the  higher  intellectual  life  is 
thus  graphically  outlined  by  Spedding,  in  his  luminous 
narrative  in  Vol.  YIII.  of  his  edition  of  Bacon's  Works : 
"  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  was  regarded 
as  a  wonderful  child.  Of  the  first  sixteen  years  of  his 
life  indeed  nothing  is  known  that  distinguished  him  from 
ahundredother  clever  and  well  disposed  boys.  .  .  .  When 
the  temperament  is  quick  and  sensitive,  the  desire  of 
knowledge  strong,  and  the  faculties  so  vigorous,  obedient, 
and  equally  developed  that  they  find  almost  all  things 
easy,  the  mind  will  commonly  fasten  upon  the  first  object 
of  interest  that  presents  itself,  with  the  ardor  of  a  first 
love.  Now  these  qualities,  which  so  eminently  distin- 
guished Bacon  as  a  man,  must  have  been  in  him  from  a 
boy ;  and  if  we  would  know  the  source  of  those  great  im- 
pulses which  began  to  work  in  him  so  early  and  continued 
to  govern  him  so  long,  we  must  look  for  it  among  the  cir- 
cumstances by  which  his  boyhood  was  surrounded.  What 
his  mother  taught  him  we  do  not  know ;  but  we  know  that 
she  was  a  learned,  eloquent,  and  religious  woman,  full  of 
affection  and  puritanical  fervor,  deeply  interested  in  the 
condition  of  the  church,  and  perfectly  believing  that  the 
cause  of  the  Nonconformists  was  the  whole  cause  of  Christ. 
Such  a  mother  could  not  but  endeavor  to  lead  her  child's 
mind  into  the  temple  where  her  own  treasure  was  laid  up, 
and  the  child's  mind,  so  led,  could  not  but  follow  thither 
with  awful  curiosity  and  impressions  not  to  be  effaced. 
Neither  do  we  know  what  his  father  taught  him;  but  he 
appears  to  have  designed  him  for  the  service  of  the  state, 
and  we  need  not  doubt  but  that  the  son  of  Elizabeth's 
Lord  Keeper,  and  nephew  of   her  principal   Secretary, 


102  FRANCIS    BACON 

early  imbibed  a  reverence  for  the  mysteries  of  statesman- 
ship and  a  deep  sense  of  the  dignity,  responsibility,  and 
importance  of  the  statesman's  calling.  ...  It  is  certain 
that  he  was  more  than  once  in  the  immediate  presence  of 
the  Queen  herself,  smiled  on  by  the  countenance  which 
was  looked  np  to  by  all  the  young  and  all  the  old  around 
him  with  love  and  reverence.  ...  So  situated,  it  must 
have  been  as  difficult  for  a  young  and  susceptible  imag- 
ination not  to  aspire  after  civil  dignities  as  for  a  boy  bred 
in  camps  not  to  long  to  be  a  soldier.  But  the  time  for 
these  was  not  yet  come.  For  the  present  his  field  of  am- 
bition was  still  in  the  school-room  ;  where,,  perhaps  from 
the  delicacy  of  his  constitution,  he  was  more  at  home  than 
in  the  play-ground.  His  career  there  was  victorious  ;  new 
prospects  of  boundless  extent  opening  on  every  side  ;  till 
at  length,  just  about  the  age  at  which  an  intellect  of  quick 
growth  begins  to  be  conscious  of  original  power,  he  was 
sent  to  the  University,  where  he  hoped  to  learn  all  that 
men  knew.  By  the  time,  however,  that  he  had  gone  through 
the  usual  course  and  heard  what  the  various  professors 
had  to  say,  he  was  conscious  of  a  disappointment.  It 
seemed  that  towards  the  end  of  the  Sixteenth  century  men 
neither  knew  nor  aspired  to  know  more  than  was  to  be 
learned  from  Aristotle  ;  a  strange  thing  at  any  time  ;  more 
strange  than  ever  just  then,  when  the  heavens  themselves 
seemed  to  be  taking  up  the  argument  in  their  own  behalf, 
and  by  suddenly  lighting  up  within  the  very  region  of  the 
Unchangeable  and  Incorruptible,  and  presently  extin- 
guishing, a  new  fixed  star  as  bright  as  Jupiter — (the  new 
star  Cassiopeia  shone  with  full  lustre  on  Bacon's  fresh- 
manship) — to  be  protesting  by  signs  and  wonders  against 
the  cardinal  doctrine  of  the  Aristotleian  philosophy.  It 
was  then  that  a  thought  struck  him,  the  date  of  which  de- 
serves to  be  recorded,  not  for  anything  extraordinary  in 
the  thought  itself,  which  had  probably  occurred  to  others 
before  him,  but  for  its  influence  upon  his  after  life.  If 
our  study  of  nature  be  thus  barren,  he  thought,  our  method 
of  study  must  be  wrong ;  might  not  a  better  method  be 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  103 

found  ?  The  suggestion  was  simple  and  obvious.  The 
singularity  was  in  the  way  he  took  hold  of  it.  With  most 
men  su(;h  a  thought  would  have  come  and  gone  in  a  pass- 
ing regret ;  a  few  might  have  matured  it  into  a  wish  ; 
some  into  a  vague  project ;  one  or  two  might  perhaps  have 
followed  it  out  so  far  as  to  attain  a  distinct  conception  of 
the  better  method,  and  hazard  a  distant  indication  of  the 
direction  in  which  it  lay.  But  in  him  the  gift  of  seeing 
in  prophetic  vision  what  might  be  and  ought  to  be  was 
united  with  the  practical  talent  of  devising  means  and 
handling  details.  He  could  at  once  imagine  like  a  poet 
and  execute  like  a  clerk  of  the  works.  Upon  the  convic- 
tion, This  may  be  done,  followed  at  once  the  question,  Hoiv) 
may  it  be  done  ?  Upon  that  question  answered,  followed 
the  resolution  to  try  and  do  it. 

"  Of  the  degrees  by  which  the  suggestion  ripened  into  a 
project,  the  project  into  an  undertaking,  and  the  under- 
taking unfolded  itself  into  distinct  proportions  and  the 
full  grandeur  of  its  total  dimensions,  I  can  say  nothing. 
But  that  the  thought  first  occurred  to  him  during  his  resi- 
dence at  Cambridge,  therefore  before  he  had  completed 
his  fifteenth  year,  we  know  upon  the  best  authority — his 
own  statement  to  Dr.  Rawley.  I  believe  it  ought  to  be 
regarded  as  the  most  important  event  in  his  life  ;  the  event 
which  had  a  greater  influence  than  any  other  upon  his 
character  and  future  course.  From  that  moment  there 
was  awakened  within  his  breast  the  appetite  which  cannot 
be  satisfied  and  the  passion  which  cannot  commit  excess. 
From  that  moment  he  had  a  vocation  which  employed  and 
stimulated  all  the  energies  of  his  mind,  gave  a  value  to 
every  vacant  interval  of  time,  and  interest  and  signifi- 
cance to  every  random  thought  and  casual  accession  of 
knowledge ;  an  object  to  live  for  as  wide  as  humanity,  as 
immortal  as  the  human  race  ;  an  idea  to  live  in  vast  and 
lofty  enough  to  fill  the  soul  forever  with  I'eligious  and  heroic 
aspirations.  From  that  moment,  though  still  subject  to  in- 
terruptions, disappointments,  errors,  and  regrets,  he  could 
never  be  without  either  work  or  hojie  or  consolation." 


104  FRANCIS    BACON 

Spedding  was  right.  It  was  a  moment  of  clear  vision, 
of  profound  conviction,  developing  into  high  resolve,  in  a 
mighty  faith  and  in  a  spirit  of  intense  consecration ;  the 
most  momentous  in  his  career,  both  to  himself  and  to 
mankind. 

Ever  since  the  days  of  Plato,  man  had  been  looking 
within  for  the  truth,  searching  his  intellect  for  the  ideals 
of  things,  seeking  to  develoji  them  from  its  recesses  by  the 
workings  of  its  processes,  and  shutting  his  eyes  to  the 
realities  of  existence,  of  which  knowledge  is  power.  The 
result  had  been  centuries  of  dreary  waste  and  barrenness. 

By  God's  gift.  Bacon  saw,  as  by  a  flash  of  inspiration, 
the  fatal  error  in  which  mankind  had  been  involved,  with 
such  disastrous  consequences ;  and  he  discerned  likewise 
the  certainty  of  inestimable  blessings  following  the  adop- 
tion of  the  contrary  course.  This  thought,  so  obviously 
vital  in  its  bearing  upon  the  destiny  of  the  race,  set  liis 
soul  on  fire,  and  though  he  was  but  a  youth  of  fifteen,  he 
determined  to  effect  a  revolution,  by  thus  turning  the 
whole  tide  of  thought  and  of  human  aft'airs. 

This  mighty  resolve  was  perhaps  the  birth  of  that  uni- 
versality, which  distinguishes  him  from  all  others.  Ilis 
purpose  is  the  measure  of  a  man,  and  its  accomplishment 
the  measure  of  his  growth.  With  Bacon  all  humanity 
was  embraced  within  its  scope  and  tlie  universe  was  its 
subject-matter.  The  efficient  prosecution  of  a  design  of 
such  magnitude  and  the  intense  mental  activity  involved 
developed  his  powers  to  a  corresponding  compass,  until 
he  attained  to  an  enormous  breadth  of  comprehension,  and 
a  vision  at  once  telescopic  and  microscopic  in  its  range. 

Deeming  it  necessary  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  pur- 
pose, he  applied  himself  to  the  acquisition  of  all  that  was 
then  known  upon  every  subject,  and  in  fact  very  little  es- 
caped him.  In  his  own  words,  ho  '  made  all  knowledge 
Lis  province ':  his  bark  "  sailed  round  the  whole  circum- 


AND    HIS    SIIAKESl'EAltE.  105 

fereiice  of  the  old  and  new  world  of  sciences  ";  he  trav- 
ersed the  highways  and  by-ways  of  its  continents  ;  and  the 
vast  extent  of  his  a(;quirenients  is  abundantly  evidenced 
upon  almost  every  page  of  his  works.  The  profusion  of 
his  classical  quotations  and  allusions,  introduced  in  apt 
expression  or  enforcement  of  his  thought,  reveals  his  mas- 
tery of  the  ancient  lore,  with  its  accumulated  wealth  of 
wit,  fable,  and  illustration,  while  his  occasional  quotations 
from  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish  authors  show  his  famil- 
iarity with  mediaeval  literature.  The  resources  of  history, 
both  ancient  and  modern,  were  added  to  his  acquirements, 
including  both  a  knowledge  of  the  course  of  events  and  an 
insight  into  the  springs  of  action  iinderlyingthem,  together 
with  a  notable  comprehension  of  the  character,  motives, 
and  mould  of  the  princij)al  actors. 

His  intent  centered  in  mankind,  with  whom  he  had  also 
to  deal,  and  by  close  observation  and  study  he  attained 
to  an  unrivalled  knowledge  of  human  nature ;  illustrated 
especially  in  his  J^ssat/s,  of  which  it  is  the  substance,  the 
warp  and  woof  of  their  texture. 

He  not  only  encompassed  the  "  old  world  "  of  science, 
but  he  drew  the  boundary  line  and  opened  the  expanse  of  its 
"new  Vv'orld."  He  regenerated  it,  breathing  into  modern 
science  its  first  breath  of  vital  life,  and  infusing  the  spirit 
which  now  animates  it.  He  cradled  its  infancy,  opened 
its  understanding  through  the  avenues  of  the  senses,  gave 
initial  development  to  its  newly  awakened  powers,  and  en- 
listed the  interest  of  mankind  in  its  growth,  so  that  in 
after  years  Newton,  Faraday,  and  Franklin,  and  a  host  of 
colaborers  of  every  nationality  eagerly  ministered  to  its 
further  development,  until  now  its  stalwart  arms  are  sus- 
tained by  the  multitude. 

Man  and  Nature  were  his  inspiring  themes ;  and  na- 
ture for  man,  for  his  interpretation,  his  comprehension, 
and  his  consequent  dominion, —  as  God's  own  vineyard, 


lOG  FRANCIS    BACON 

divinely  ordained,  planted,  and  watorod  for  man's  abund- 
ant snstenauce  and  enjoyment,  and  only  awaiting  liis  entry 
into  its  complete  possession. 

And  to  this  end,  he  besought  man  to  cease  from  his 
search  after  truth  within  the  recesses  of  his  own  mind,  and 
to  turn  his  attention  outward,  to  the  study  of  the  world  of 
liis  abode,  in  its  actual  realities,  and  with  a  due  '  submis- 
sion of  the  mind  unto  things.'  He  also  opened  up  and 
definitely  unfolded  the  new  way  of  dealing  effectively  with 
nature ;  substituting  for  the  prevalent  Aristotleian  and 
scholastic  Logic,  with  its  reverence  for  "the  first  notions 
of  the  mind,"  and  its  inevitable  imposition  of  them  iij)()u 
nature,  his  Interpretation  of  Nature  by  orderly  Induction  ; 
which  should  educe  or  draw  forth  her  meaning  out  of  and 
directly  from  her  phenomena,  and  which  was  thereforo 
based  upon  the  close,  minute,  and  persistent  ohseriiatloii 
of  her  manifestations, — all  of  which  is  set  forth  at  length 
in  his  Great  Instauration,*  The  following  brief  quotation 
will  afford  the  reader  a  glimpse  of  the  especial  emphasis 
he  placed  upon  "  observation,"  and  of  the  spirit  and  intent 
of  his  work ;  though  we  can  hardly  appreciate  its  truly 
revolutionary  character,  in  its  antagonism  to  the  then  dom- 
inant scholastic  philosophy  ;  now  that  the  Baconian  spirit 
has  been  so  long  in  supremacy,  and  we  have  become  so  ac- 
customed to  the  enjoyment  of  its  fruits.  Having  outlined 
his  "Art  of  Interpreting  Nature,"  he  continues: 

*  Our  present  wonder  was  fully  shared  by  him,  in  his  vivid 
realization  of  the  situation  at  that  time.  In  his  Novum  Or- 
ganum,  he  observes : 

"  For  it  is  sufficient  to  astonish  any  reflecting  mind,  that  no- 
body should  have  cared  or  wished  to  open  and  complete  a  way 
for  tlie  understanding,  setting  off  from  the  senses,  and  regular, 
well-conducted  experiment ;  but  that  everything  has  been  aban- 
doned either  to  the  mists  of  tradition,  the  whirl  and  confusion 
of  argument,  or  the  waves  and  mazes  of  chance,  and  desultory, 
ill-combined  experiment." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  107 

"  But  as  WO  propose  not  only  to  pave  and  show  the  way, 
but  also  to  tread  in  it  ourselves,  we  shall  next  exhibit  the 
phenomena  of  the  universe  ;  that  is,  such  experience  of  all 
kinds,  and  such  a  natural  history,  as  may  afford  a  founda- 
tion to  philosophy.  For  as  no  fine  method  of  demonstra- 
tion or  form  of  explaining  nature  can  preserve  the  mind 
from  error,  and  support  it  from  falling  ;  so  neither  can  it 
hence  receive  any  matter  of  science.  Those,  therefore, 
who  determine  not  to  conjecture  and  guess,  but  to  find  out 
and  know ;  not  to  invent  fables  and  romances  of  worlds, 
but  to  look  into  and  dissect  the  nature  of  this  real  world, 
must  consult  only  things  themselves.  Nor  can  any  force 
of  genius,  thought,  or  argument  be  substituted  for  this 
labor,  search,  and  inspection  ;  not  even  though  all  the  wits 
of  men  were  united :  this,  therefore,  must  either  be  had 
or  the  business  be  deserted  forever." 

Strange  as  it  now  may  seem,  this  was  a  radical  depart- 
ure from  the  methods  then  in  vogue  and  for  centuries 
past ;  inaugurating  a  new  era  for  mankind. 

Incidentally,  it  may  be  noted  that  in  applying  his  phil- 
osophy Bacon  studied  things  in  nature  and  human  expe- 
rience so  closely  that  he  caught  their  spirit ;  a  vital  ele- 
ment in  their  adequate  interpretation,  especially  in  the 
important  phase  of  poetical  treatment,  of  which  it  is  the 
very  essence.  This  is  made  strikingly  apparent  in  succeed- 
ing sentences,  where  his  thought  is  clothed,  as  in  a  garment, 
in  the  imagery  of  nature  and  man's  surroundings,  with 
the  characteristic  addition  of  a  bit  of  mythological  garni- 
ture drawn  from  the  classics.     He  continues  : 

"  Our  natural  history  is  not  designed  so  much  to  please 
by  its  variety,  or  benefit  by  gainful  experiments,  as  to  af- 
ford light  to  the  discovery  of  causes,  and  hold  out  the 
breasts  to  philosophy ;  for  though  we  principally  regard 
works,  and  the  active  parts  of  the  sciences,  yet  we  wait 
for  the  time  of  harvest,  and  would  not  reap  the  blade  for 
the  ear.  We  are  well  aware  that  axioms,  rightly  framed, 
will  draw  after  them  whole  sheaves  of  works  :  but  for  that 


108  FRANCIS    BACON 

nutiinely  and  childish  desire  of  seeing  fruits  of  new  works 
before  the  season,  we  absohitely  condemn  and  reject  it,  as 
the  golden  apple  that  hinders  the  progress." 

And  again  :  "  For  as  we  have  greater  hopes  from  our 
constant  conversation  with  nature,  than  from  our  force  of 
genius,  the  discoveries  we  shall  thus  make  may  serve  as 
inns  on  the  road,  for  the  mind  to  repose  in,  during  its 
progress  to  greater  certainties." 

The  garb  perfectly  fits  the  thought ;  for  this  student  of 
nature  and  experience  had  become  familiar  with  her  lan- 
guage, in  the  comprehension  of  the  subtle  thoughts  and 
delicate  shades  of  meaning  expressed  in  her  works,  and 
had  thus  at  command  a  whole  wardrobe  of  appropriate 
vestments ;  having  only  to  make  choice  of  that  which  had 
been  ordained  for  the  expression  of  meanings  analogous 
or  identical  with  his  own.  Bacon  truly  entered  into  con- 
verse with  nature,  "  interrogating  "  her,  listening  attent- 
ively to  her  voice,  and  (matching  the  very  tones  and  accent 
of  ••'  the  mother  tongue." 

He  concludes  his  announcement  in  these  impressive 
words : 

"  We  design  no  contemptible  beginning  to  the  work ; 
and  anticipate  that  the  fortune  of  mankind  will  lead  it  to 
such  a  termination  as  is  not  possible  for  the  present  race 
to  conceive.  The  point  in  view  is  not  only  the  contem- 
plative happiness,  but  the  whole  fortunes,  and  affairs,  and 
powers,  and  works  of  men.  For  man  being  the  minister 
and  interpreter  of  nature,  acts  and  understands  so  far  as 
he  lias  observed  of  the  order,  the  works,  and  mind  of  na- 
ture, and  can  proceed  no  further ;  for  no  power  is  able 
to  loose  or  break  the  chain  of  causes,  nor  is  nature  to  be 
conquered  but  by  submission  ;  whence  those  twin  inten- 
tions, human  knowledge  and  human  power,  are  really 
coincident ;  and  the  greatest  hindrance  to  works  is  the 
ignorance  of  causes. 

"  The  capital  precept  for  the  whole  undertaking  is  this, 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  109 

that  the  eye  of  the  mind  he  never  taken  off  from  things 
theinselves,  but  receive  their  images  truly  as  they  are. 
And  God  forbid  that  ever  we  should  offer  the  dreams  of 
fancy  for  a  model  of  the  world  ;  but  rather  in  his  kind- 
ness vouchsafe  to  us  the  means  of  writing  a  revelation  and 
true  vision  of  the  traces  and  moulds  of  the  Creator  in  his 
creatures. 

"  May  thou,  therefore,  O  Father,  who  gavest  the  light 
of  vision  as  the  first  fruit  of  creation,  and  who  hast  spread 
over  the  fall  of  man  the  light  of  thy  understanding  as  the 
accomplishment  of  thy  works,  guard  and  direct  this  work, 
which  issuing  from  thy  goodness,  seeks  in  return  thy 
glory !  When  thou  hast  surveyed  the  works  which  thy 
hands  had  wrought  all  seemed  good  in  thy  sight  and  Thou 
restedst.  But  when  man  turned  to  the  works  of  his  hands, 
he  found  all  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,  and  experienced 
no  rest.  If,  however,  we  labor  in  thy  works,  Thou  wilt 
make  us  to  partake  of  thy  vision  and  sabbath  ;  we,  there- 
fore, humbly  beseech  Thee  to  strengthen  our  purpose, 
that  Thou  mayst  be  willing  to  endow  thy  family  of  man- 
kind with  new  gifts,  through  our  hands,  and  the  hands 
of  those  in  whom  Thou  snaLj  implant  the  same  spirit." 

Three  centuries  have  rolled  their  course  since  Francis 
Bacon  uttered  that  praye:  The  world  has  been  borne 
onward,  with  ever  accelerating  velocity,  in  the  trend  of  a 
mighty  revolution.  The  eye  can  scarcely  penetrate  with 
clear  vision  into  the  remote  regions  of  that  age,  where 
darkness  prevailed,  and  where  for  centuries  the  lot  of  man 
had  been  one  of  discomfort,  privation,  and  poverty  of  re- 
source. Earth  has  entered  the  bounds  of  brighter  realms, 
in  whose  enlightenment  man  has  indeed  been  endowed  with 
new  gifts  of  comfort  and  enjoyment,  and  with  enlarged 
powers  and  opportunities. 

We  dwell, to-day,  at  the  dawning  of  the  Twentieth  cen- 
tury, in  a  truly  palatial  environment :  we  are  tasting  the 
sweets  of  regal  power,  in  our  newly  acquired  dominion 


110  FKANCIS    BACON 

over  the  forces  of  nature.  The  lightnmg's  flash  has  been 
arrested  in  its  course  and  made  to  glow  in  an  enduring 
and  steady  light,  to  minister  to  our  comfort.  It  is  already 
an  old  story  of  its  employment  as  a  Mercury,  to  carry  our 
thoughts  and  even  our  voices  to  friends  at  a  distance :  it 
is  rather  as  a  Jove,  in  its  personification  of  povi^er,  that  its 
})erformances  now  daily  astonish  us.  Light,  heat,  elec- 
tricity, indeed  all  the  subtle  forces  of  nature,  are  being 
brought  into  harness  and  to  the  pole,  to  give  increased 
impetus  to  the  forward  movement,  expending  their  ener- 
gies in  a  thousand  services  to  mankind. 

Invention  has  lit  its  torch  in  every  hamlet,  and  the  Arts, 
utilizing  nature's  forces  by  its  aid,  have  attained  a  devel- 
opment surpassing  in  accomplishment  all  that  was  ever 
attributed  to  the  fabled  Genii,  summoned  at  the  call  of 
the  magician.  And  even  Medicine,  instead  of  bleeding, 
cupping,  and  torturing  its  victims,  now  ministers  intelli- 
gently to  man,  in  reinforcement  of  nature,  arousing  her 
latent  powers  and  stimulating  them  to  throw  off  the  dis- 
ease. 

And  Science,  the  parent  tree,  of  which  these  develop- 
ments are  the  fruits,  has  grown  to  such  proportions  tliat 
its  branches  fill  the  earth,  and  whatever  is,  is  embraced 
within  its  scope ;  v/hile  its  accumulations  have  become  so 
vast  that  almost  a  lifetime  is  required  to  master  a  single 
department.  Bacon's  spirit  has  been  an  inspiration  to  the 
race,  '♦  the  same  spirit "  now  animating  all ;  and  by  the 
patient  observance  of  his  cardinal  pi-ecept,  of  'fastening 
the  eye  of  the  mind  upon  things  themselves,  to  receive 
their  images  truly  as  they  are,'  in  complete  submission, 
man  has  been  brought  from  afar  to  the  very  threshold  of 
the  inner  court  of  nature's  sanctuary,  with  a  hope  of  even 
penetrating  the  cloud  of  her  mystery.  Submission  is 
effecting  the  conquest,  and  in  this  subtler  than  a  Jacob's 
wrestling,  man  is  prevailing  over  nature,  despoiling  her 
of  her  secrets,  and  appropriating  her  powers  to  his  service. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  Ill 

And  all  the  while,  in  a  thousand  channels,  Science,  in  ful- 
filment of  its  true  function  and  end,  and  because  of  the 
coincidence  of  knowledge  and  power,  is  continually  min- 
istering to  the  welfare  of  man,  in  an  affluence  of  benefac- 
tions,—  bounty  upon  bounty,  a  never-ceasing  stream  of 
bounties. 

Surely,  here  is  an  advancement  in  "  the  whole  fortunes, 
and  affairs,  and  powers,  and  works  of  men,"  beyond  any 
conception  that  could  possibly  have  been  entertained  three 
hundred  years  ago.  Such  was  Bacon's  anticipation  ;  and 
ours  is  the  day  of  the  realization  of  his  prophetic  vision, 
in  the  fulfilment  of  a  faith  in  the  unseen  that  was  truly 
sublime. 

But  there  are  centuries  yet  to  come.  They  will  roll  on, 
bearing  the  world  into  those  heavens  whose  light  is  the 
effulgence  of  the  glory  of  God  ;  made  manifest  in  the  com- 
prehension of  His  works,  and  in  their  complete  utilization 
and  enjoyment  by  man  ;  where  the  accomplishment  of 
these  works  will  be  attained  in  man's  understanding  of 
Him  ;  and  when  the  labor  which  shall  have  wrought  this 
shall  end  in  a  participation  in  His  rest  and  sabbath.  Then, 
and  not  till  then,  will  the  full  intent  of  Bacon's  thought 
be  compassed,  as  it  found  expression  in  his  prayer. 

This  prayer  also  reveals  the  man,  in  its  unfolding  of 
his  sincere  desire.  It  was  the  cry  to  the  Almighty  of  a 
great  heart  burdened  with  the  fateful  import  of  his  mes- 
sage to  mankind,  which,  in  his  belief,  was  to  effect  mate- 
rially the  fortunes,  the  welfare,  and  the  happiness  of  the 
race  through  all  coming  generations,  to  the  end  of  time. 
Standing  alone,  and  about  to  cast  the  die,  in  the  solemnity 
of  the  moment  when  such  a  destiny  was  at  stake,  he  turned 
instinctively  to  the  Father,  imploring  Him  to  strengthen 
his  ])urpose,  to  guard  and  direct  the  work,  and  to  endow 
his  family  of  mankind  with  new  gifts  at  his  hands,  "  and 
the  hands  of  those  in  whom  Thou  shalt  implant  the  same 
spirit." 


112  FRANCIS    BACON 

Bacon's  prayer  has  been  likened  to  the  devotion  of  an 
angel :  it  was  the  far  more  precious  utterance  of  a  mortal, 
sounding  from  the  depths  unto  the  heavens,  benign  in  in- 
tent, and  inspired  by  a  faith  which  was  the  likeness  and 
reflection  of  the  vision  of  the  Almighty. 

In  his  profound  wisdom,  Bacon  found  a  place  and  a 
function  for  prayer.  He  believed  in  its  efficacy.  His 
trust  in  an  overruling  Providence  was  serene  and  unfal- 
tering. And  who  can  say  that  his  earnest  petition  in  be- 
half of  mankind  did  not  find  a  lodgment  in  the  ear  and 
heart  of  the  Almighty ;  that  it  did  not  comply  with  the 
conditions  of  some  spiritual  law  under  which  the  cry  of 
the  mortal  can  move  the  arm  of  the  Father ;  and  that 
His  directing  guidance,  thus  implored,  was  not  an  effi- 
cient instrumentality  in  effecting  the  marked  turn  in  the 
tide  of  human  affairs  which  followed,  and  which  has 
secured  to  us  such  an  enlargement  of  life,  through  its  en- 
dowment with  the  "new  gifts"  we  so  abundantly  enjoy? 

Francis  Bacon  was  deeply  touched  with  human  infirm- 
ity. While  his  iniquity  was  far  less  than  that  into  which 
Jacob  and  David  and  Solomon  unfortunately  lapsed,  yet 
it  drew  upon  him  the  chastisement  of  an  overwhelming 
retribution.  His  sin  bore  heavily  upon  him  :  he  felt  the 
burning  imprint  of  its  ugly  brand,  the  agony  of  its  pain- 
ful stain.  He  could  only  apply  the  divinely  healing  balm 
of  deep  contrition.  He  washed  it  with  the  tears  of  his 
repentance,  and  wiped  it  with  the  hope  that  his  example 
might  prove  a  bulwark  to  others  in  like  temptation,  and 
he  covered  it  with  the  white  mantle  of  his  beneficence  to 
man.  Let  no  cruel  hand,  in  the  basest  ingratitude,  now 
seek  to  uncover  his  nakedness. 

Mankind  can  never  discharge  its  indebtedness  to  Bacon  : 
but  we  are  lost  to  charity,  and  to  magnanimity  as  well,  if 
in  our  hearts  there  be  found  no  chords  responsive  to  the 
spirit  of  his  Prospero's  final  and  touching  appeal : 


AND   HIS   SHAKESPEARE.  113 

"  Now  I  want 

Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant ; 

And  my  ending  is  despair, 

Unless  I  be  relieved  hy  prayer ; 

Which  pierces  so,  that  it  assaults 

Mercy  itself,  and  frees  all  faults. 

As  you  from  crivies  would  pardoned  he. 
Let  your  indidgence  set  tne  free^ 

It  may  be  that  there  are  those,  who,  in  their  conscious- 
ness of  rectitude  and  their  few  shortcomings,  are  strangers 
to.  any  sympathetic  indulgence  for  their  fellow  men,  and 
so  without  mercy  either  for  the  living  or  the  dead.  But 
surely,  in  their  acute  sense  of  the  binding  force  of  obliga- 
tion, they  will  not  withhold  their  acknowledgment,  long 
since  due,  of  what  we  owe  to  Bacon :  they  will  join  in  its 
grateful  recognition  ;  or  at  least,  they  will  do  him  simple 
justice: 

He  was  at  once,  and  in  each  in  the  highest  sense,  the 
Prophet  of  progress,  the  Interpreter  of  nature,  the  rever- 
ent Worshipper  of  the  Father,  and  the  world's  great  Bene- 
factor. 


114  FRANCIS    BACON 


CHAPTER  III. 

*'  Two  gfPtes  the  entrance  of  sleej)'s  house  adorn, 
Of  ivoxy  one,  the  other  simple  horn ; 
Through  horn  a  crowd  of  real  visions  streams, 
Through  ivory  portals  pass  delusive  dreams." 

The  above  lines  from  Virgil,  so  beautifully  translated  by 
Spedding,  were  quoted  by  Bacon  in  his  Da  Augmentls^ 
Seventh  Book,  in  answer  to  a  possible  criticism  that  his 
work  upon  a  given  topic  had  been  "  but  to  collect  into  an 
art  or  science  that  which  had  been  omitted  by  other  wri- 
ters as  matter  of  common  sense,  and  sufficiently  clear  and 
self-evident."  He  continues:  "Great  no  doubt  is  the 
magnificence  of  the  ivory  gate,  but  the  true  dreams  pass 
through  the  gate  of  horn." 

This  gate  of  simple  horn  was  to  Bacon  '  the  fastening 
of  the  eye  of  the  mind  upon  things  themselves,  to  receive 
their  images  truly  as  they  are,'  in  vigilant,  painstaking 
industry, — the  homely  portal  through  which  alone  streams 
the  real  vision  of  the  truth  behind  the  fact.  Indeed,  this 
faithful  observation  of  the  realities,  even  in  their  most 
commonplace  and  apparently  trivial  details,  was  Bacon's 
cardinal  principle,  underlying  his  whole  work. 

It  led  him  to  base  his  Great  Instauration  upon  the 
groundwork  of  a  proposed  Watm-al  History,  which  should 
be  an  accurate  record  of  man's  observations  and  experi- 
ments, throughout  the  whole  range  of  nature  and  human- 
ity ;  thereby  affording  the  requisite  materials  for  the  more 
difficult  work  of  induction.  Just  as  in  our  day,  Charles 
Darwin,  working  in  a  narrower  but  broad  field,  spent  five 
years  of  his  life  in  the  arduous  work  of  collecting  from 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  115 

all  over  the  world  all  sorts  of  facts  bearing,  however  re- 
motely, upon  "  Species  ";  as  a  preliminary  to  the  working 
out,  during  further  years  of  observation,  of  the  mighty 
inductions  given  to  the  world  in  his  Origin  of  /Sjjecies* 
To  us,  with  our  extended  knowledge,  Bacon's  project 
seems  a  colossal  enterprise,  impossible  of  accomplishment, 
though  a  thousand  pens  were  employed  ;  but  in  Bacon's 
day,  when  so  Httle  was  accurately  known,  it  seemed,  to 
him  at  least,  a  feasible  undertaking,  though  obviously  in- 
volving immense  toil  and  the  severest  drudgery.  More- 
over, he  had  in  view  the  ultimate  development  of  a  2)^iil- 
osopliia  iwhna^  unfolding  the  principles  that  underlie  all 
phenomena,  in  their  common  unity. 

He,  therefore,  applied  himself  with  characteristic  energy 
to  the  performance  of  the  task,  though  it  involved  a  seem- 
ing neglect  of  higher  matters.  In  opening  his  Natural 
and  Experimental  History ^he>  announces  tliis  purpose  in 
an  eloquent  plea  for  the  cause ;  perhaps,  within  its  brief 
compass,  the  most  exalted  appeal  to  the  higher  motives  to 
be  found  in  any  literature  outside  of  the  Bible : 

"  If,  therefore,  there  be  any  humility  towards  the  Cre- 
ator, any  reverence  for  or  disposition  to  magnify  His 
works,  any  charity  for  man  and  anxiety  to  relieve  his  sor- 
rows and  necessities,  any  love  of  truth  in  nature,  any 
hatred  of  darkness,  any  desire  for  the  purification  of  the 
understanding,  we  must  entreat  men  again  and  again  to 
discard,  or  at  least  set  apart  for  a  while,  those  volatile  and 
preposterous  philosophies,  which  have  preferred  theses  to 

*  "  On  my  return  home  it  occurred  to  me,  in  1837,  that  some- 
thing might  perhaps  be  made  out  of  this  question  by  patiently 
accumulating  and  reflecting  on  all  sorts  o£  facts  which  could 
possibly  have  any  bearing  on  it.  After  five  years'  work  I 
allowed  myself  to  speculate  on  the  subject,  and  drew  up  some 
short  notes ;  these  I  enlarged  in  1844  into  a  sketch  of  the  con- 
clusions which  then  seemed  to  me  probable ;  from  that  period 
to  the  present  day  [1859]  I  have  steadily  pursued  the  same 
object." — Introduction  to  the  Origin  of  Species. 


116  FRANCIS    BACON 

iiypatheses,  led  experience  captive,  and  trampled  over  the 
works  of  God  ;  and  to  approach  with  humility  and  vener- 
ation to  unroll  the  volume  of  Creation,  to  linger  and  med- 
itate therein,  and  with  minds  washed  clean  from  opinions 
to  study  it  in  purity  and  integrity.  For  this  is  that  sound 
and  language  which  went  forth  into  all  lands,*  and  did 
not  incur  the  confusion  of  Babel ;  this  should  men  study 
to  be  perfect  in,  and  becoming  again  as  little  children,  con- 
descend to  take  the  alphabet  of  it  into  their  hands  and 
spare  no  pains  to  search  and  unravel  the  interpretation 
thereof,  but  pursue  it  strenuously  and  persevere  even  unto 
death. 

"  Having  therefore  in  my  Instauration  placed  the  Nat- 
ural History  —  such  a  Natural  History  as  may  serve  my 
purpose — in  the  third  part  of  the  work,  I  have  thought  it 
right  to  make  some  anticipation  thereof,  and  to  enter  upon 
it  at  once.  For  although  not  a  few  things,  and  those 
among  the  most  important,  still  remain  to  be  completed 
in  my  Organum,  yet  my  design  is  rather  to  advance  the 
universal  work  of  Instauration  in  many  things,  than  to 
perfect  it  in  a  few ;  ever  earnestly  desiring,  with  such  a 
passion  as  we  believe  God  alone  inspires,  that  this  which 
has  been  hitherto  unattempted  may  not  now  be  attempted 
in  vain.  .  .  .  May  God,  the  Founder,  Preserver,  and  Re- 
newer  of  the  universe,  in  His  love  and  compassion  to  men, 
protect  and  rule  this  work,  both  in  its  ascent  to  His  glory 
and  in  its  descent  to  the  good  of  men,  through  His  only 
Son,  God  with  us." 

He  tried  also  to  enlist  the  help  of  others  in  this  great 
work  ;  even  appealing  to  the  King  for  the  aid  of  his  influ- 
ence in  this  direction ;  writing,  in  reply  to  his  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  receipt  of  a  presentation  copy  of  the  Novum 
Organum  : 

"  This  comfortable  beginning  makes  me  hope  further 
that  your  Majesty  will  be  aiding  to  me,  in  setting  men  on 
work  for  the  collecting  of  a  natural  aud  experimental  his- 

*  Psalm  XIX.,  1-i. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  117 

tory  ;  which  is  basis  totius  negotii  ;  a  thing  which  I  as- 
sure myself  will  be  from  time  to  time  an  excellent  recre- 
ation for  you  ;  I  say,  to  that  admirable  spirit  of  yours, 
that  delighteth  in  light :  and  I  hope  well  that  even  in  your 
times  many  noble  inventions  may  be  discovered  for  man's 
use.  For  who  can  tell,  now  this  Mine  of  Truth  is  once 
opened,  how  the  veins  go,  and  what  lieth  higher  and  what 
lieth  lower  ?  " 

But  King  James  would  do  nothing,  as  indeed  might 
have  been  expected  from  one  who  had  shown  himself  so 
sharply  obtuse,  in  his  remark  about  the  Novum  Organurn, 
that  it  was  "  like  the  peace  of  God,  that  passeth  all  under- 
standing ";  and  so  Bacon  was  left  to  work  alone. 

Dr.  Rawley,  his  chaplain  and  biographer,  in  his  preface 
to  Bacon's  Natural  Historg,  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  the 
severity  of  the  situation  : 

"  And  in  this  behalf,  I  have  heard  his  lordship  speak 
complainingly,  that  his  lordsliip  (who  thinketh  he  de- 
serveth  to  be  an  architect  in  this  building)  should  be 
forced  to  bo  a  workman  and  a  laboror,  and  to  dig  the  clay 
and  burn  the  brick ;  and  more  than  that  (according  to 
the  hard  condition  of  the  Israelites  at  the  latter  end),  to 
gather  the  straw  and  stubble  over  all  the  fields  to  bum 
the  bricks  withal.  For  he  knoweth  that  except  he  do  it, 
nothing  will  be  done :  men  are  so  set  to  despise  the  means 
of  their  own  good." 

This  reference  to  the  crude  materials,  to  clay,  brick, 
straw,  and  stubble,  was  peculiarly  felicitous ;  and  we  can- 
not give  the  reader  a  better  insiglit  into  the  character  of 
the  work  than  by  following  Dr.  Rawley 's  example,  in  the 
recital  of  Bacon's  own  words.  In  his  JVovuni  Orgamun, 
CXIX.,  he  says: 

"  There  will  be  met  with  also  in  my  history  and  experi- 
ments many  things  which  are  trivial  and  commonly  known ; 
many  which  are  mean  and  low ;  many,  lastly,  which  are 
too  subtle  and  merely  speculative,  and  that  seem  to  be  of 


118  FRANCIS    BACON 

110  use;  which  kind  of  things  may  possibly  avert  and 
alienate  men's  interest. 

"  And  first  for  those  things  which  seem  common  :  let 
men  bear  in  mind  that  hitherto  they  have  been  accustomed 
to  do  no  more  than  refer  and  adopt  the  causes  of  things 
which  rarely  happen  to  such  as  happen  frequently ;  while 
of  those  which  happen  frequently  they  never  ask  the  cause, 
but  take  them  as  they  are  for  granted.  And  therefore 
they  do  not  investigate  the  causes  of  weight,  of  the  rota- 
tion of  the  heavenly  bodies,  of  heat,  cold,  light,  hardness, 
softness,  rarity,  density,  liquidity,  solidity,  animation,  in- 
animation, similarity,  dissimilarity,  organization,  and  the 
like  ;  but  admitting  these  as  self-evident  and  obvious,  they 
dispute  and  decide  on  other  things  of  less  frequent  and 
familiar  occurrence. 

"  But  I,  who  am  well  aware  that  no  judgment  can  be 
passed  on  uncommon  or  remarkable  things,  much  less  any- 
thing new  brought  to  light,  unless  the  causes  of  common 
things,  and  the  causes  of  those  causes,  be  first  duly  exam- 
ined and  found  out,  am  of  necessity  compelled  to  admit 
the  commonest  things  into  my  history.  Nay,  in  my  judg- 
ment philosophy  has  been  hindered  by  nothing  more  than 
this, — that  things  of  familiar  and  frequent  occurrence  do 
not  arrest  and  detain  the  thoughts  of  men,  but  are  received 
in  passing  without  any  inquiry  into  their  causes  ;  inso- 
much that  information  concerning  things  which  are  not 
known  is  not  oftener  wanted  than  attention  concerning 
tilings  which  are." 

Bacon  sought,  first  and  foremost,  to  get  at  "  the  power 
and  the  mystery  of  common  things  ";  and  in  liis  Prepovd- 
tlon  toioards  a  Natural  ami  Expcrlineiital  History^  he 
summarizes  as  follows : 

"  In  this  place  also  is  to  be  resumed  that  which  in  the 
09th,  119th,  and  120th  Aphorisms  of  the  first,  book  I 
treated  more  at  large,  but  which  it  may  be  enough  here 
to  enjoin  shortly  by  way  of  ])recept ;  namely,  that  there 
are  to  be  received  into  this  history,  lirst,  things  the  most 


AND  III8  siiakespeai;e.  119 

ordinary,  such  as  might  be  thought  superfluous  to  record 
in  writing,  because  they  are  so  familiarly  known  ;  secondly, 
things  mean,  illiberal,  filthy  (for  '  to  the  pure  all  things 
are  pure,'  and  if^money  obtained  from  Vespasian's  tax 
snioit  well,  much  more  does  light  and  information  from 
whatever  source  derived);  thirdly,  things  trifling  and  child- 
ish (and  no  wonder,  for  we  are  to  become  again  as  little 
children);  and  lastly,  things  which  seem  over  subtle,  be- 
cause they  are  in  themselves  of  no  use.  For  the  things 
which  will  be  set  forth  in  this  History  are  not  collected 
(as  I  have  already  said)  on  their  own  account ;  and  there- 
fore neither  is  their  importance  to  be  measured  by  what 
they  are  worth  in  themselves,  but  according  to  their  indi- 
rect bearing  upon  other  things,  and  the  influence  they  may 
have  upon  philosophy." 

This  allusion  to  filthy  things  awakens  the  suggestion, 
that  possibly  the  Poet  .may  have  been  actuated  by  the 
same  principle  of  absolute  fidelity  to  the  realities,  in  his 
insertion  in  the  plays  of  details  so  grossly  offensive,  in  the 
midst  of  so  much  that  is  beautiful  and  inspiring.  May 
he  not  have  touched  upon  these  matters,  in  common  with 
all  phases  of  humanity,  in  that  breadth  of  interpretation 
which  comprehends  an  infolded  meaning  in  every  function 
and  development  of  man's  being,  and  which  seeks  to  give 
expression  to  nature's  language  in  its  whole  vocabulary 
and  in  its  every  mood  and  tense? 

All  his  biographers  agree  that  Bacon  was  a  pure  man  ; 
which  gives  the  greater  strength  to  his  position  upon  this 
point,  stated  even  more  forcibly  in  the  120th  Aphorism : 

"  And  for  things  that  are  mean  or  even  filthy, — things 
which  (as  Pliny  says)  must  be  introduced  with  an  apol- 
ogy, —  such  things,  no  less  than  the  most  splendid  and 
costly,  must  be  admitted  into  natural  history.  Nor  is 
natural  history  polluted  thereby ;  for  the  sun  enters  the 
sewer  no  less  than  the  palace,  yet  takes  no  pollution.  And 
for  myself,  I  am  not  raising  a  capital  or  pyramid  to  the 


120  FRANCIS    BACON 

pride  of  man,  but  laying  a  foundation  in  the  human  un- 
derstanding for  a  holy  temple  after  the  model  of  the  world. 
That  model,  therefore,  I  follow.  For  whatever  deserves 
to  exist  deserves  also  to  be  known,  for  knowledge  is  the 
image  of  existence  ;  and  things  mean  and  splendid  exist 
alike.  Moreover,  as  from  certain  putrid  substances  — 
musk  for  instance,  and  civit — the  sweetest  odors  are  some- 
times generated,  so  too  from  mean  and  sordid  instances 
emanate  excellent  light  and  information.  But  enough 
and  more  than  enough  of  this ;  such  fastidiousness  being 
merely  childish  and  effeminate." 

Regarding  the  scope  of  the  work,  the  127t]i  Aphorism, 
in  its  breadth  of  view,  is  even  applicable  to  the  conditions 
to-day : 

"  It  may  also  be  asked  (in  the  way  of  doubt  rather  than 
objection)  whether  I  speak  of  natural  philosophy  only,  or 
whether  I  mean  that  the  other  sciences,  logic,  ethics,  and 
politics  should  be  carried  on  by  this  method.  Now  I  cer- 
tainly mean  what  I  have  said  to  be  understood  of  them 
all ;  and  as  the  common  logic,  which  governs  by  the  syl- 
logism, extends  not  only  to  natural  but  to  all  sciences  ;  so 
does  mine  also,  which  proceeds  by  induction,  embrace  ev- 
erything. For  I  form  a  History  and  tables  of  discovery 
for  anger,  fear,  shame,  and  the  like  ;  for  matters  political ; 
and  again  for  the  mental  operations  of  memory,  composi- 
tion and  division,  judgment  and  the  rest ;  not  less  than 
for  heat  and  cold,  or  light,  or  vegetation,  or  the  like.  But 
nevertlieless  since  my  method  of  interpretation,  after  the 
history  has  been  prepared  and  duly  arranged,  regards  not 
the  working  and  discourse  of  the  mind  only  (as  the  com- 
mon logic  does)  but  the  nature  of  things  also,  I  supply 
the  mind  with  such  rules  and  guidance  that  it  may  in  every 
case  apply  itself  aptly  to  the  nature  of  things.  And  there- 
fore I  deliver  many  and  diverse  precepts  in  the  doctrine 
of  Interpretation,  which  in  some  measure  modify  the 
method  of  invention  according  to  the  quality  and  condi- 
tion of  the  subject  of  the  iiupiiry." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  121 

Aud  finally,  regarding  the  style  of  the  work,  iu  his 
Freparatloii,  etc..  Bacon  says  : 

"  Nor  is  this  all.  For  in  a  great  work  it  is  no  less  nec- 
essary that  what  is  admitted  should  be  written  succinctly 
than  that  wliich  is  superfluous  should  be  rejected  ;  though 
no  doubt  this  kind  of  chastity  and  brevity  will  give  less 
pleasure  both  to  the  reader  and  the  writer.  But  it  is  al- 
ways to  be  remembered  that  this  which  we  are  now  about 
is  only  a  granary  and  storehouse  of  matters,  not  meant  to 
be  pleasant  to  stay  or  live  in,  but  only  to  be  entered  as 
occasion  requires,  when  anything  is  wanted  for  the  work 
of  the  Interpreter,  which  follows." 

Bacon  himself,  in  fulfilment  of  his  capital  precept,  was 
a  close  observer  of  everything.  Through  this  life-long 
habit,  he  was  enabled  to  gather  at  first  hand  a  store  of 
materials  that  was  unequalled  in  its  variety  and  almost 
boundless  in  extent,  as  is  evidenced  in  his  works.  In  the 
words  of  Macaulay  :  "  The  Essays  contain  abundant  proofs 
that  no  nice  feature  of  character,  no  peculiarity  in  the 
ordering  of  a  house,  a  garden,  or  a  court  masque,  could 
escape  the  notice  of  one  whose  mind  was  capable  of  tak- 
ing in  the  whole  world  of  knowledge." 

He  drew  from  this  vast  fund  of  information  in  writing 
his  Natural  Histories,  availing  himself  also  of  many  ob- 
servations noted  by  the  ancients.  He  left  a  Natural  and 
Experimental  History,  comprising  a  History  of  the 
Winds,  a  History  of  Life  and  DcatJi,  a  History  of  Dense 
and  Rare,  and  Introductions  to  others  of  like  character  ; 
also  a  Sylm  Sylmrum  or  Natural  History,  consisting  of 
a  thousand  paragraphs,  divided  into  ten  centuries,  con- 
taining observations  upon  a  great  variety  of  matters.  The 
value  of  these  collections  lay  in  their  use,  and  as  our  knowl- 
edge is  vastly  more  complete,  they  have  generally  been 
regarded  as  useless  lumber,  cumbering  the  library  shelves, 
though  fortunately  for  us  they  have  been  preserved. 

And  now  the  reader  well  may  ask,  what  possible  rela- 


122  FRANCIS    BACON 

tion  could  such  collections  of  the  dry  details  of  things 
have  to  Poetry,  or  the  Poet's  plays  ? 

The  answer  is  simple,  direct,  significant.  The  close 
study  of  Bacon  in  his  works  has  led  us  to  the  recognition 
of  a  vital  principle,  possibly  of  far-reaching  consequence. 
While  in  both  Science  and  Poetry  there  are  far  higher 
departments  with  their  richer  treasures  of  truth ;  as  in 
Science  these  observations  of  things  themselves,  "  truly 
as  they  are,"  are,  to  use  Bacon's  figure,  the  alphabet  out 
of  which  the  whole  structure  is  drawn  and  framed  ;  so  the 
same  materials,  industriously  gathered  and  personally  as- 
similated, are  alike  the  alphabet  of  true  Poetry — the  best 
and  most  enduring,  such  as  is  found  in  the  plays  —  and 
indeed  of  all  literature  whose  aim  is  revelation  or  inter- 
pretation, the  evolution  of  the  universal  out  of  the  par- 
ticular, the  translation  of  fact  into  truth. 

This  exalted  realm  is  the  common  domain  of  modern 
science  and  the  truest  poetiy,  in  whose  lofty  perspective 
the  parallel  lines  meet  and  blend  together :  it  is  the  arch 
connecting  the  two  pillars  at  their  top,  yea,  the  dome  sur- 
mounting the  entire  Pantheon  of  human  learning,  cover- 
ing the  whole  structure.  Its  solid  foundation  is  in  the 
realities  :  and  throughout,  the  only  gate  opening  to  the 
entrance  of  true  visions  is  the  gate  of  homely  horn. 

This  cardinal  principle  was  with  Bacon  a  standard 
canon,  expressed  in  the  tributes  he  incidentally  i)ays  to 
the  best  poets  from  time  to  time.     Thus,  in  brief : 

"  The  south  wind  with  us  is  rainy,  the  north  wind  clear  ; 
the  former  collects  and  nurtures  clouds,  the  latter  breaks 
and  dissipates  them.  Poets,  therefore,  in  their  descrip- 
tions of  the  deluge  represent  the  north  wind  as  at  that 
time  imprisoned,  and  the  south  wind  let  loose  with  full 
force." 

Again  :  "  We  should  not  altogether  neglect  the  testi- 
mony of  Virgil,  seeing  he  was  by  no  means  ignorant  of 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  123 

natural  philosophy :  '  At  once  the  winds  rush  forth,  the 
east,  and  the  south,  and  south-west,  laden  with  storms,' 
and  again,  '  I  have  seen  all  the  battles  of  the  winds  meet 
together  in  the  air.'  " 

"  To  conclude,  therefore  :  as  certain  critics  are  used  to 
say  hyperbolically, —  That  if  all  sciences  tvere  lost  they 
tuight  he  found  in  Virgil ; — so  certainly  this  may  be  said 
truly,  there  are  the  prints  and  footsteps  of  learning  in 
those  few  speeches  which  are  reported  of  this  prince." 

And  again  :  "  So  likewise  I  find  some  particular  writ- 
ings of  an  elegant  nature  touching  some  of  the  aifections  ; 
as  of  anger,  of  comfort  upon  adverse  accidents,  of  tender- 
ness of  countenance,  and  other.  But  the  poets  and  writers 
of  history  are  the  best  doctors  of  this  knowledge ;  where 
we  may  find  painted  forth  with  great  life,  how  affections 
are  kindled  and  incited ;  and  how  pacified  and  refrained  ; 
and  how  again  contained  from  act  and  further  degree  ; 
how  they  disclose  themselves,  how  they  work,  how  they 
vary,  how  they  gather  and  fortify,  how  they  are  inwrapped 
one  with  another,  and  how  they  do  fight  and  encounter 
one  with  another,  and  other  the  like  particulars." 

That  we  may  fully  recognize  the  dominance  of  this  prin- 
ciple, let  us  now  enter  these  storehouses  of  Bacon's  ob- 
servations, his  Natural  Histories,  and  with  the  plays  in 
hand  scrutinize  closely  these  primary  elements,  or  letters 
of  the  alphabet ;  noting  with  what  fidelity  and  wondrous 
skill  this  "  architect "  wrought  them  into  beautiful  struct- 
ures, *'  after  the  model  of  the  world,"  and  which  will  en- 
dure as  long  as  there  is  a  world.  Let  us  enter  as  into  his 
workshop,  humbly,  reverently,  and  with  studious  mien,  as 
is  l)ecoraing  to  those  who  would  observe  the  methods  of 
this  great  Master  of  his  art. 

Let  us  proceed,  not  at  random,  but  more  compi'chen- 
sively,  by  topics ;  and  as  the  only  difficulty  arises  from 
an  embarrassment  of  riches,  we  will  begin  at  the  end  of 
all  thintrs  —  Death, 


124  FRANCIS    BACON 

"THE  PORCHES  OF  DEATH.* 
"  1  now  come  to  the  inquiry  concerning  the  porches  of 
death  ;  that  is,  of  the  things  which  happen  to  men  both 
a  little  before  and  a  little  after  the  point  of  death  ;  that 
seeing  that  there  are  so  many  paths  which  lead  to  death, 
we  may  know  what  are  the  common  issues  of  them  all." 
"  The  immediate  signs  which  precede  death  are,  great 
restlessness  and  tossing  of  the  body,  fumbling  of  the  hands, 
hard  clutching  and  grasping,  teeth  firmly  set,  a  hollow 
voice,  trembling  of  the  lower  lip,  pallor  of  the  face,  a 
confused  memory,  loss  of  speech,  cold  sweats,  elongation 
of  the  body,  raising  up  of  the  whites  of  the  eyes,  alteration 
of  the  whole  countenance  (as  the  nose  becoming  sharp, 
the  eyes  hollow,  and  the  cheeks  sinking  in),  contraction 
and  rolling  of  the  tongue,  coldness  of  the  extremities,  in 
some  a  discharge  of  blood  or  seed,  a  shrill  cry,  thick  breath- 
ing, falling  of  the  lower  jaw,  and  the  like." 

(For  brevity,  we  leave  to  the  reader  the  pleasure  of  trac- 
ing out  in  this  "  alphabet "  the  numerous  details  in  the 
following  quotations  from  the  plays.) 

"  K-  Hen.  Set  me  the  crown  upon  my  pillow  here. 
Cla.  His  eye  is  hollow  and  lie  changes  much." 

//.,  King  Henry  IV.,  IV.,  4. 

"  A  needy,  hollow-eyed,  sharp-looking  wretch, 
A  living  dead  man." — Com.  of  Err.,  V.,  1. 

"  Not  so,  even  through  the  hollow  eyes  of  death 
I  spy  life  peering." — K.  Richard  II.,  II.,  1. 

"  O  farewell,  dear  Hector, 

Look,  how  thou  diest!  look,  how  thy  eye  turns  pale!" 

Troll,  and  Cress.,  V.,  3. 
"  My  arm  shall  give  thee  help  to  bear  thee  hence; 

For  I  do  see  the  cruel  pangs  of  death 

Right  in  thine  eye." — K.  John,  V.,  4-t 

*  Ilistorij  of  Life  and  Death. 

t  "  I  know  many  wise  men  tliat  fear  to  die ;  for  the  cliange 
is  bitter,  and  tlesh  would  refuse  to  jnovo  it:  besides,  the  expec- 
tation brings  terror,  and  that  exceeds  the  evil.     But  I  do  not 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  125 

"  War.  See  how  the  pangs  of  death  do  make  him  grin  I 
iSal.  Distnrh  him  not,  let  him  pass  peaceably." 

— //.,  Hennj  IV.,  III.,  3. 
"  The  king  I  fear  is  poisoned  by  a  monk: 
I  left  him  almost  speechless  and  broke  out 
To  acquaint  you  with  this  evil." — K.  John,  V.,  3. 

"  O,  I  could  prophecy 
But  that  the  earthly  and  cold  hand  of  death 
Lies  on  my  tongue." — /.,  K.  Henry  IV.,  V.,  4- 

"  Quint.  My  sight  is  very  dull,  whate'er  it  bodes. 

I  am  surprised  v^ith  an  uncouth  fear ; 

A  chilling  sweat  o'erruns  my  trembling  joints ; 

My  heart  suspects  more  than  mine  eye  can  see. 

Mart.  To  prove  thou  hast  a  true  divining  heart, 

Aaron  and  thou  look  down  into  this  den. 

And  see  a  fearful  sight  of  blood  and  death." 

— Tit.  Andron.,  II.,  4. 
"  Patience.  Do  you  note 

How  much  her  grace  is  altered  on  the  sudden? 

How  long  her  face  is  drawn?  how  pale  she  looks. 

And  of  an  earthly  cold  ?     Mark  her  eyes  ! 

Grif.  She  is  going,  wench  ;  pray,  pray." 

—K.  Henrij  VIII,  IV.,  2. 

"Ah,  Warwick,  Montague  hath  breathed  his  last; 
And  to  the  latest  gasp  cried  out  for  Warwick, 
And  said,  'Commend  me  to  my  valiant  brother.' 
And  more  he  would  have  said;   and  more  he  spake, 
Which  sonnded  like  a  cannon  in  a  va^dt. 
That  mought  not  be  distinguished :  but  at  last, 

believe  that  any  man  fears  to  be  dead,  but  only  the  stroke  of 

death.'" — On  Death. 

"  Dar'st  thou  die  ? 
The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension ; 
And  the  poor  beetle  that  we  tread  upon. 
In  corporal  sufferance  finds  a  pang  as  great 
As  when  a  giant  dies." — Measure  for  Measure,  III.,  1. 
"  Bolinghroke.  See  them  deliver'd  over 
To  execution  and  the  ha,nd  of  death. 
Bushy.  More  welcome  is  the  stroke  of  death  to  me 
Than  Bolinghroke  to  England." — Richard  II.,  III.,  1. 


126  FRANCIS    BACON 

I  well  might  hear,  delivered  with  a  groan, 
'O  farewell,  Warwick.'"—///.,  K.  Kenry  VI.,  V.,  2. 

"  It  is  too  late ;  the  life  of  all  his  blood 
Is  touched  corruptibly ;  and  his  pure  brain 
(Which  some  suppose  the  soul's  frail  dwelling  house) 
Doth  by  the  idle  comments  that  it  makes, 
Foretell  the  ending  of  mortality." — K.  John,  V.,  7. 

(The  words  "  some  suppose  "  exactly  express  Bacon's 
attitude,  frankly  avowed  iu  his  Advcmce?nent  of  Learning, 
Fourth  Book :  "  But  among  those  doctrines  of  union,  or 
consent  of  soul  and  body,  there  is  none  more  necessary 
than  an  inquiry  into  the  proper  seat  and  habitation  of 
each  faculty  of  the  soul  in  the  body  and  its  organs.  Some, 
indeed,  have  prosecuted  this  subject ;  but  all  usually  de- 
livered upon  it  is  either  controverted  or  slightly  examined, 
so  as  to  require  more  pains  and  accuracy.  The  opinion 
of  Plato,  which  seats  the  understanding  in  the  brain,  cour- 
age in  the  heart,  and  sensuality  in  the  liver,  should 
neither  be  totally  rejected  nor  fondly  received.")* 

The  following  is  Dame  Quickly's  account  of  Falstaff's 
death : 

"  'A  made  a  finer  end,  and  went  away,  an  it  had  been 
any  christom  child  ;  'a  parted  just  between  twelve  and  one, 
e'en  at  the  turning  o'  the  tide :  for  after  I  saw  him  fum- 
ble with  the  sheets,  and  play  with  flowers,  and  smile  upon 
his  finger  ends,  I  know  there  was  but  one  way ;  for  his 
nose  was  as  sharp  as  a  pen,  and  'a  babbled  of  green  fields. 

*  "  —  when  liver,  brain,  and  heart, 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supplied  and  fiU'd  —  " 

—Twelfth  Nujht,  /.,  1. 
"  Ford.   Love  my  wife  ! 
Pistol.   With  liver  burning  hot." 

— Merry  Withes  of  Windsor,  II.,  1. 

•'  Biron.  This  is  the  liver  vein  which  makes  flesh  a  deity. " 

—L.  L.  /.,  IV.,  3. 

"  Ferdinand.  I  warrant  you,  sir ; 
The  white  cold  virgin  snow  upon  my  heart 
Abates  the  ardor  of  my  liver." — Temjiest,  IV.,  1. 


AND    Ills    SHAKESPEARE.  127 

So  'a  cried  out — God,  God,  God  !  I  hoped  there  was  no  need 
to  trouble  himself  with  any  such  thoughts  yet :  so  'a  bade 
uie  lay  more  clothes  on  his  feet:  I  put  my  hand  into  the 
bed  and  felt  them,  and  they  were  as  cold  as  any  stone ; 
then  I  felt  to  his  knees,  and  so  upward,  and  upward,  and 
all  was  as  cold  as  any  stone." — K.  Henry  V.,  II.,  3. 

Dr.  J.  C.  Bucknell's  elegant  comment  on  this  passage, 
in  his  Medical  Knowledge  of  Shakespeare,  is  pertinent : 

"  There  is  no  small  amount  of  medical  knowledge  in 
Mistress  Quickly's  account  of  Sir  John's  exit  from  the 
stage  of  life  ;  knowledge,  indeed,  conveyed  in  language  so 
quaintly  humorous  that  it  might  easily  be  overlooked. 
.  .  •  What  a  fine  touch  of  nature  there  is  in  the  repro- 
bate old  knight  '  babbling  on  green  fields '  in  his  last  de- 
lirium ;  the  impressions  of  early  years,  of  innocent  happi- 
ness flitting  through  his  brain  ;  the  last  of  life's  memories 
fading  into  the  first,  as  the  twilight  of  eve  sometimes 
touches  that  of  morn.  It  is  remarkable  what  good  sense 
and  exact  observation  Shakespeare  constantly  puts  into 
the  mouths  of  his  vulgar  characters." 

May  we  not  also  remark  the  entrance  of  this  real  vision 
through  the  gate  of  horn  ?  Indeed,  have  we  not  at  last 
within  tangible  grasp  one  of  the  sources  of  the  Poet's 
power  ?  The  foliage  put  forth  upon  this  "  princely  trunk  " 
was  developed  out  of  primal  nutriment,  drawn  from  the 
hard  subsoil,  through  patient,  painstaking  drudgery,  and 
therefore,  with  unshrivelled  verdure,  it  has  withstood  the 
withering  blast  of  centuries,  not  a  leaf  falling  to  the 
ground. 

Bacon  continues  his  observations  :  "  Death  is  succeeded 
by  deprivation  of  all  sense  and  motion,  as  well  of  the  heart 
and  arteries  as  of  the  nerves  and  limbs,  by  inability  of 
the  body  to  support  itself  upright,  by  stiffness  of  the 
nerves  and  parts,  by  loss  of  all  warmth,  and  soon  after  by 
putrefaction  and  stench." 

"  Death,  death,  O  amiable,  lovely  death ! 
Tlioii  odoriferous  stench!" — K.  John,  III.,  Jj.. 


128  FRANCIS    BACON 

'  •  lla !  let  me  see  her  :  —  out,  alas  !  she  's  cold  ; 
Hev  blood  is  settled,  and  her  joints  are  stitt' ; 
Life  and  these  lips  have  long  been  separated : 
Death  lies  on  her,  like  an  untimely  frost 
Upon  the  sweetest  flower  of  all  the  field." 

— Eoneo  and  Juliet,  IV.,  5. 

"  Oft  have  I  seen  a  timely-parted  ghost, 
Of  ashy  semblance,  meagre,  pale  and  bloodless, 
Being  all  descended  to  the  laboring  heart ; 
Who,  in  the  conflict  that  it  holds  with  death, 
Attracts  the  same  for  aidance  'gainst  the  enemy ; 
Which  with  the  heart  there  cools  and  ne'er  returneth 
To  blush  and  beautify  the  cheek  again.' 

— //.,  Henry  VI.,  III.,  S. 

"  Take  thou  this  phial,  being  then  in  bed, 
And  this  distilled  liquor  drink  thou  oft" : 
When,  presently,  through  all  thy  veins  shall  run 
A  cold  and  drowsy  humor ;  for  no  pulse 
Shall  keep  his  native  progress,  but  surcease ; 
No  warmth,  no  breath,  shall  testify  thou  livest; 
The  roses  in  thy  lips  and  cheeks  shall  fade 
To  paly  ashes ;  thy  eyes'  windows  fall, 
Like  death,  when  he  shuts  up  the  day  of  life; 
Each  2>ar^,  deprived  of  subtle  government. 
Shall,  stiff,  and  stark,  and  cold,  appear  like  death : 
And  in  this  borrow'd  likeness  of  shrunk  death 
Thou  shalt  continue  two  and  forty  hours, 
And  then  awake  as  from  a  pleasant  sleep." 

— Romeo  and  Juliet,  IV.,  1. 

He  continues  :  "  There  have  been  many  instances  of  men 
who  have  been  left  for  dead,  laid  out,  and  carried  forth 
to  burial ;  nay,  of  some  who  have  been  actually  buried, 
that  have  come  to  life  again.  ...  A  physician  still  alive 
told  me  that  by  the  use  oi  frictions  and  loarm  baths  he 
had  recovered  a  man  who  had  hung  himself  and  had  been 
suspended  for  half  an  hour." 

*'  Death  may  usurp  on  nature  many  hours. 
And  yet  the  fire  of  life  kindle  again 
The  o'erpress'd  spirits.     I  have  heard  of  an  Egyptian 
That  had  nine  hours  lien  dead, 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  129 

Who  was  by  good  ap2)Uances  recovered." 

— Pericles,  III.,  2. 

And  in  the  same  connection :  "  I  remember  to  have 
heard  of  a  gentleman  who,  being  curious  to  know  what 
the  sensation  of  hanging  was,  hung  himself,  by  mounting 
on  a  stool  and  jumping  off,  thinking,  of  course,  that  he 
would  be  able  to  regain  the  stool  as  soon  as  he  liked  ;  but 
this  he  was  unable  to  do,  and  he  was  only  released  by  a 
friend  who  was  present.  On  being  asked  what  he  had 
suffered,  he  said  that  he  felt  no  jjcdn,  but  that  at  first  he 
saw  around  him  the  appearance  of  fire  burning,  which  was 
succeeded  by  an  intense  blackness  or  darkness,  and  then 
by  a  kind  of  pale  or  sea-green  color,  such  as  is  also  seen 
by  fainting  persons." 

Out  of  the  jaws  of  death  (so  narrowly  escaped  in  a  fool- 
ish "  experiment ")  Bacon  drew  honey,  gathering  there- 
from "light  and  information."  The  "sweet"  in  the  fol- 
lowing verse  is  the  riddle :  its  solution  gives  us  the  secret 
of  his  strength : 

"  Luc.  Art  thou  sorry  for  these  heinous  deeds  ? 
Aaron.  Ay,  that  I  had  not  done  a  thousand  more." 

'■'■L^ic.  Bring  down  the  devil,  for  he  must  not  die 
So  sweet  a  death  as  hanging  presently." 

— Tit.  Andron.,  V.,  1. 

"The  death  that  is  most  ivithout j)ai7i  hath  been  noted 
to  be  upon  taking  the  portion  of  hemlock ;  which  in  hu- 
manity was  the  form  of  execution  of  capital  offenders  in 
Athens.  The  poison  of  the  Asp,  that  Cleopatra  used, 
hath  some  affinity  with  it.  The  cause  is,  for  that  the  tor- 
ments of  death  are  chiefly  raised  by  the  strife  of  the 
spirits  ;  and  these  vapors  quench  the  spirits  by  degrees  ; 
like  to  the  death  of  an  extreme  old  man." — Natural  His- 
tory, 643. 

"  Cleopatra.  Hast  thou  the  pretty  worm  of  Nilus  there, 
That  kills  and  p)<^i'>^s  not  ?  " 

"  Peace,  peace ! 
Dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast, 

9 


130  FRANCIS    BACON 

That  sucks  the  nurse  asleep  ? 
As  sweet  as  balm,  as  soft  as  air,  as  gentle, — " 
"  Ccesar.  Most  probable 

That  so  she  died ;  for  her  physician  tells  me 
She  hath  pursued  conclusions  infinite 
Of  easy  tvays  to  die." — Ant.  and  Cleo.,  V.,  2. 
We  conclude  with  one  of  nature's  occasional  notes  from 
a  song  of  a  sweeter  cadence,  whose  subtle,  evanescent 
melody  Bacon  caught  and  recorded  in  his  Wisdom  of  the 
Ancients : 

"  And  this  part  of  the  allegory  has  a  further  meaning 
which  is  striking  and  noble ;  namel)^  that  in  the  case  of 
persons  who  suffer  for  religion,  the  words  which  they 
speak  at  their  death,  like  the  song  of  the  dying  swan,  have 
a  wonderful  effect  and  impression  upon  men's  minds,  and 
dwell  longer  in  their  memory  and  feelings  ": 

"  Holy  men  at  their  death  have  good  inspirations." 

— Mer.  of  Veji.,  I.,  2. 
"  O,  but  they  say  the  tongues  of  dying  men 
Enforce  attention,  like  deep  harmony : 
Where  words  are  scarce,  they  are  seldom  spent  in  vain  ; 
For  they  breathe  truth,  that  breathe  their  words  in  pain. 
He,  that  no  more  must  say,  is  listen'd  more 
Than  they  whom  youth  and  ease  have  taught  to  glose ; 
More  are  men's  ends  marked,  than  their  lives  before  : 
The  setting  sun  and  music  at  the  close, 
(As  the  last  taste  of  sweets  is  sweetest)  last, 
Writ  in  remembrance,  more  than  things  long  past ; 
Though  Richard  my  life's  counsel  would  not  hear, 
My  death's  sad  tale  may  yet  undeaf  his  ear.'" 

—Richard  II.,  II.,  L* 

*  In  the  closing  scene  of  Othello,  when  Emilia  would  convince 
the  Moor  of  Desdemona's  innocence,  dying,  she  cries : 
"  Hark,  canst  thou  hear  me?     I  will  play  the  swan. 
And  die  in  nmsic  :   '  Willow,  ivilloiv,  w'illoiv.' — 
Moor,  she  was  chaste ;   she  lov'd  thee,  cruel  Moor ; 
So  come  my  soul  to  bliss,  as  I  speak  true ; 
So  speaking  as  I  think,  I  die, — I  die.     \Dies.'' 
The  wretched  Moor,  all  doubt  dispelled,  wounds  lago  and 
then  kills  himself. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  131 


CHAPTER  III.  — Continued. 

OLD  AGE. 

The  following  is  from  Bacon's  Histonj  of  Life   and 
Death  : 

"  Lastly,  since  it  is  convenient  to  know  the  character 
and  form  of  old  age ;  which  will  be  done  best  hy  making 
a  careful  collection  of  all  the  differences  in  the  state  and 
functions  of  the  hody  bettveen  youth  and  old  age,  that  by 
them  you  may  see  what  it  is  that  branches  out  into  so 
many  effects." 

"  The  differences  between  youth  and  old  age  are  these : 
A  young  man's  skin  is  even  and  smooth,  an  old  man's  dry 
and  wrinkled,  especially  about  the  eyes  and  forehead ;  a 
young  man's  flesh  is  soft  and  tender,  an  old  man's  hard ; 
youth  has  strength  and  activity,  old  age  decay  of  strength 
and  slowness  of  motion ;  youth  has  a  strong,  old  age  a  weak 
digestion ;  a  young  man's  bowels  are  soft  and  succulent, 
an  old  man's  salt  and  parched ;  in  youth  the  body  is  erect, 
in  old  age  bent  into  a  curve ;  a  young  man's  limbs  are 
firm,  an  old  man's  weak  and  trembling;  in  youth  the 
humors  are  billions  and  the  blood  hot,  in  old  age  the 
humors  are  phlegmatic  and  melancholy,  and  the  blood 
cold ;  a  young  man's  sexual  passions  are  quick,  an  old 
man's  slow ;  in  youth  the  juices  of  the  body  are  more  ros- 
cid,  in  old  age  more  crude  and  watery ;  in  youth  the  spirit 
is  plentiful  and  effervescent,  in  old  age  poor  and  scanty ; 
in  youth  the  spirit  is  dense  and  fresh,  in  old  age  dull  and 
impaired  ;  a  young  man's  teeth  are  strong  and  perfect,  an 
old  man's  weak,  worn,  and  falling  out ;  a  young  man's  hair 
is  colored,  an  old  man's  (whatever  color  it  formerly  was) 
white  ;  youth  has  hair,  old  age  baldness  ;  in  youth  the  pulse 
beats  stronger  and  quicker,  in  old  age  weaker  and  slower  ', 


lo2  FRANCIS    BACON 

a  young  man's  illnesses  are  more  acute  and  curable,  an  old 
man's  chronic  and  hard  to  cure ;  in  youth,  wounds  heal 
fast,  in  old  age  slowly ;  a  young  man's  cheeks  are  fresh 
colored,  an  old  man's  pale  or  rubicund,  and  the  blood 
thick ;  youth  is  less  troubled  with  rheums,  age  more  so. 
Neither,  as  far  as  I  know,  does  age  bring  any  improve- 
ment to  the  body  unless  it  be  sometimes  in  fatness." 

(Note  also  in  the  following  exemplifications  the  con- 
tinued antithesis  between  old  age  and  youth.) 

"  A  good  leg  will  fall ;  a  straight  back  will  stoop  ;  a 
black  beard  will  turn  white  ;  a  curled  pate  will  grow  bald  ; 
a  fair  face  will  wither ;  a  full  eye  will  wax  hollow." — 
Henry  F.,  F.,  2. 

'■^Falstaff.  You  that  are  old  consider  not  the  capacities  of  us 
that  are  young :  you  measure  the  heat  of  our  livers  with  the 
bitterness  of  your  galls :  and  we  that  are  in  the  vanward  of  our 
youth,  I  must  confess,  are  wags  too. 

"  Ch.  Justice.  Do  you  set  down  your  name  in  scroll  of  youth, 
that  are  written  down  old  with  all  the  characters  of  age  ?  Have 
you  not  a  moist  eye?  a  dry  hand?  a  yellow  cheek?  a  white 
beard  ?  a  decreasing  leg  ?  an  increasing  belly  ?  Is  not  your 
voice  broken  ?  your  wind  short  ?  your  chin  double  ?  your  wit 
single  ?  and  every  part  about  you  blasted  with  antiquity  ?  And 
will  you  yet  call  yourself  young?  Fie,  fie,  Sir  John." — //., 
Henry  IV.,  I.,  2. 

'■^Falstaff.  Your  lordship,  though  not  clean  past  your  youth, 
hath  yet  some  smack  of  age  in  you,  some  relish  of  the  saltness 
of  time." — Id. 

"  why  I  desire  thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbor,  hath  a  purpose 
More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  ends 
Of  burning  youth." — Measure  for  Measxire,  /.,  ^. 
"  Thou  art  Hermione  ;  or,  rather  thou  art  she 
In  thy  not  chiding ;   for  she  was  as  tender 
As  infancy  and  grace, —  But  yet,  Paulina, 
Hermione  was  not  so  much  wrinkled ;   nothing 
So  aged  as  this  seems." — Winter's  Tale,  V.,  3. 
"  And  for  an  old  aimt,  wliom  the  Greeks  held  captive, 
He  brought  a  Grecian  <pieen,  whose  youth  and  freshness 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  133 

WrinldeR  Apollo's,  and  makes  stale  the  morning." 

— Troil.  and  Cress.,  II.,  2. 
"Let  it  stamp  wrinkles  in  her  brow  of  youth." 

— K.  Lear,  /.,  4. 
"Thou  bring'st  happiness  and  peace,  Sir  John; 
But  health,  alack,  with  youtlifnl  wings  is  tlown 
From  this  bare  withered  trunk." 

— //.,  Henrij  IV.,  IV.,  4. 
'♦  To  shake  all  cares  and  business  from  our  age ; 
Conferring  them  on  younger  strength,  while  we 
Unburden'd  crawl  towards  death." — K.  Lear,  /,,  1. 

"  Son  of  sixteen, 
Pluck  the  lined  crutch  from  thy  old  limping  sire."  * 
— Tim.  of  Athens,  IV.,  1. 
"that  stale  old  mouse-eaten  dry  cheese,  Nestor," 

— Troil.  and  Cress.,  V.,  4. 
"  I  will  now  take  my  leave  of  these  six  dry,  round,  old  with- 
ered knights." — //.,  Henry  IV.,  II.,  4. 

"We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses  snapped  off  with 
two  old  men  without  teeth." — Much  Ado,  V.,  1. 
"  Nurse.  I  '11  lay  fourteen  of  my  teeth  — 
And  yet,  to  my  teen  be  it  spoken,  I  have  but  four  — 
She  is  not  fourteen." — Romeo  and  Juliet,  I.,  3. 
"  Dromio.  There  's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his  hair, 
that  grows  bald  by  nature. 

Ant.  May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery? 
Dromio.  Yes,  to  pay  a  line  for  a  periwig,  and  recover  the 
lost  hair  of  another  man.   .   .  . 

*  "  The  scale  or  succession  of  stages  in  the  human  body  is 
this  ;  conception,  .  .  .  gray  hairs  and  baldness,  cessation  of  the 
menstrua  and  of  the  generative  power,  tendency  to  decrepitude 
and  a  three  legged  animal,  death.  In  the  meantime  the  mind 
also  has  its  periods,  though  they  cannot  be  described  by  years ; 
as  a  failing  memory  and  the  like,  of  which  hereafter." — History 
of  Life  and  Death. 

"  Last  scene  of  all, 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness  and  mere  oblivion ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything." 
—As  You  Like  It,  II.,  7. 


134  FRANCIS    BACON 

A7if.  But  youv  reason  was  not  sul)stantial,  wliy  there  is  no 
time  to  recover. 

Dromio.  Thus  I  mend  it :  Time  himself  is  hakl,  and  there- 
fore, to  the  worhl's  end,  will  have  bald  followers." —  C0//1.  of 
Errors,  II.,  2. 

"  Thou  canst  help  time  to  furrow  me  with  age. 
But  stop  no  wrinkle  in  his  pilgrimage." 

—Richard  II,  /.,  S. 
"  To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth, 
To  view  with  hollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow, 
An  age  of  poverty." — Merchant  of  Venice,  1  V.,  1. 
"  That  so  his  sickness,  age,  and  impotence." 

— Hamlet,  11,  2. 
"  When  sapless  age,  and  weak  unable  limbs. 
Should  bring  thy  father  to  his  drooping  chair." 

■ — /.,  Henry  VI.,  IV.,  5. 

''  That  he  is  old  (the  more  the  pity)  his  white  hairs  do  wit- 
ness it." — /.,  Henry  IV.,  II.,  J/.. 

"  Why,  how  now,  Kate?     I  hope  thou  art  not  mad; 
This  is  a  man,  old,  wrinkled,  faded,  wither'd ; 
And  not  a  maiden,  as  thou  say'st  he  is." 

— Taming  of  the  Shrew,  IV.,  5. 

"  Hamlet.  Slanders,  sir :  for  the  satirical  slave  says  here,  that 
old  men  have  gray  beards  ;  that  their  faces  are  wrinkled ;  their 
eyes  purging  thick  amber,  or  plum-tree  gum ;  and  that  they 
have  a  plentiful  lack  of  wit,  together  with  weak  hams :  all  which, 
sir,  though  I  most  powerfully  and  potently  believe,  yet  I  hold 
it  not  honestly  to  have  it  thus  set  down ;  for  you  yourself,  sir, 
should  be  old  as  I  am,  if,  like  a  crab,  you  could  go  backward. 

Polonius.  Though  this  be  madness,  yet  there  is  method  in  it." 
— Hamlet,  II.,  2. 

Bacon  continues  the  record  of  his  observations : 
"Next  in  order  comes  the  consideration  of  the  affec- 
tions of  the  mind,  I  remember  when  I  was  a  young  man 
at  Poictiers  in  France  that  I  was  very  intimate  with  a 
young  Frenchman  of  great  wit,  but  somewhat  talkative, 
who  afterwards  turned  out  a  very  eminent  man.  He  used 
to  inveigh  against  the  manners  of  old  men,  and  say  that 
if  their  minds  could  be  seen  as  well  as  their  bodies,  they 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  135 

would  appear  no  less  deformed ;  and  further  indulging- 
his  fancy,  he  argued  that  the  defects  of  their  minds  had 
some  parallel  and  correspondence  with  those  of  the  body. 
To  dx-yness  of  the  skin  he  opposed  impudence ;  to  hardness 
of  the  bowels,  hardness  of  the  heart ;  to  blear  eyes,*  envy, 
and  the  evil  eye ;  to  sunken  eyes  and  bowing  of  the  body 
to  the  ground,  atheism  (for  they  no  longer,  he  says,  look 
up  to  heaven);  to  the  trembling  of  the  limbs,  vacillation 
of  purpose  and  inconstancy  ;  to  the  bending  and  clutch- 
ing of  the  fingers,  rapacity  and  avarice ;  to  the  tottering 
of  the  knees,  timidity ;  to  wrinkles,  cunning  and  crooked 
ways ;  and  other  parallels  which  do  not  now  occur  to  me. 
But  to  be  serious ;  youth  has  modesty  and  a  sense  of 
shame,  old  age  is  somewhat  hardened  ;  a  young  man  has 

*  "7??'?«,  All  tongues  speak  of  him,  and  the  bleared  sights 
Are  spectacled  to  see  him." — Coriolanus,  II.,  1. 

A  chai-acterlstic  blunder.  Spectacles  were  not  invented  till 
towards  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century.  See  Enc.  Brit., 
Article,  Spectacles.  In  his  Essay,  Of  Friendship,  Bacon  says  : 
"  It  was  well  said  by  Themistocles  to  the  King  of  Persia,  '  That 
speech  was  like  the  cloth  of  Arras,  opened  and  put  abroad ; 
whereby  the  imagery  doth  appear  in  figure  ;  whereas  in  thoughts 
they  lie  but  as  in  packs.' " 

In  Bohn's  edition  of  the  Essays,  Devey,  the  editor,  says  in  a 
note:  "Si^eaking  hypercritically,  Lord  Bacon  commits  an  an- 
achronism here,  as  Arras  did  not  manufacture  tapestry  till  the 
middle  ages." 

For  other  mistakes  see  also  the  same  edition,  pages  101, 118, 
172,  173,  175,  180,  182,  184,  189. 

Abbott,  Bacon's  biographer,  says  of  him  :  "  We  have  absolute 
proof  that  he  was  eminently  inattentive  to  details.  His  scien- 
tific works  are  full  of  inaccuracies.  King  James  found  in  this 
defect  of  his  Chancellor  the  matter  for  a  witticism  :  '  De  Mini- 
mis non  curat  lex.'     [The  law  cares  not  for  trifles.]  " 

In  his  Notes  for  a  Conference  xoith  Buckingham,  Bacon 
gracefully  accepts  the  joke,  in  these  words :  "  You  know  the 
King  was  wont  to  do  me  the  honor  as  to  say  of  me  de  minimis 
non  curat  lex ;  if  good  for  anything  for  great  volumes.  I 
cannot  thridd  needles  so  well." 


136  FRANCIS    BACON 

kindness  and  mercy,  an  old  man  has  Jbecome  pitiless  and 
callous ;  youth  has  a  praiseworthy  emulation,  old  age  an 
ill-natured  envy ;  youth  is  inclined  to  religion  and  devo- 
tion by  reason  of  its  fervency  and  inexperience  of  evil,  in 
old  age  piety  cools  through  the  lukewarmness  of  charity 
and  long  intercourse  with  evil,  together  with  the  difficulty 
of  believing ;  a  young  man's  wishes  are  vehement,  an  old 
man's  moderate ;  youth  is  fickle  and  unstable,  old  age 
more  grave  and  constant ;  youth  is  liberal,  generous,  and 
philanthropic,  old  age  is  covetous,  wise  for  itself,  and  self- 
seeking  ;  youth  is  confident  and  hopeful,  old  age  diffident 
and  distrustful ;  a  young  man  is  easy  and  obliging,  an  old 
man  churlish  and  peevish  ;  youth  is  frank  and  sincere,  old 
age  cautious  and  reserved ;  youth  desires  great  things, 
old  age  regards  those  that  are  necessary ;  a  young  man 
thinks  well  of  the  present,  an  old  man  prefers  the  past  ; 
a  young  man  reverences  his  superiors,  an  old  man  finds 
out  their  faults ;  and  there  are  many  other  distinctions 
which  belong  rather  to  manners  than  the  present  inquiry. 
Nevertheless  as  old  men  in  some  respects  improve  in  their 
bodies,  so  also  in  their  minds,  unless  they  are  quite  worn 
out.  For  instance,  though  less  ready  in  invention,  yet 
they  are  more  powerful  in  judgment,  and  prefer  a  safe 
and  sound  to  a  specious  course.  They  increase  likewise 
in  talkativeness  and  ostentation ;  for  being  less  fit  for 
action  they  look  for  fruit  of  speech  ;  so  it  was  not  without 
reason  that  the  poets  represented  Tithonus  as  transformed 
into  a  grasshopper." 

A  sad  picture,  truly,  of  old  age,  as  here  mirrored  from 
life !  For  Bacon  was  a  close,  keen  observer  of  human 
nature,  as  it  was  developed  in  the  characteristics  of  those 
about  him  ;  religiously  determined  upon  the  observation 
of  things  themselves,  "  to  receive  their  images  truly  as 
they  are."  We  must  therefore,  perforce,  accept  these  ob- 
servations as  a  correct  transcript  of  life,  especially  as  they 
are  repeatedly  interwoven  in  the  fabric  of  the  plays,  form- 
ing a  part  of  the  coloring  of  their  j^attern. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  137 

But  if  we  are  not  mistaken,  in  our  day,  and  especially 
in  America, — due  perhaps  to  the  marked  amelioration  of 
the  conditions  of  life,  the  broadening  of  its  interests,  the 
better  developing  and  more  widely  extended  culture,  and 
above  all,  to  the  growing  recognition  of  ethical  principles 
and  their  better  observance, — old  age  is  now  more  attrac- 
tive, sweeter,  mellower,  and  in  many  ways  more  expres- 
sive of  nature's  analogy  in  the  rich,  golden  autumn  of  the 
seasons. 

If  this  be  so,  then  are  Bacon's  observations  invaluable : 
they  stand  forth  as  a  landmark  or  milestone,  bj^  whose 
bearings  we  may  note  the  moral  progress  of  the  race. 

The  following  are  a  few  examples  of  their  utilization 
in  the  plays : 

"  Falstaff.  A  man  can  no  more  separate  age  and  covetous- 
ness,  than  he  can  part  young  limbs  and  lechery." — //.,  Henry 
VI.,  /.,  2. 

"  Verg.  Yes,  I  thank  God,  I  am  as  honest  as  any  man  living, 
that  is  an  old  man,  and  no  honester  than  I. 

Leo7i.  Neighbors,  you  are  tedious." — Much  Ado,  III.,  5. 

"  and  I  begin  to  love,  as  an  old  man  loves  money,  with  no 
stomach." — AlVs  Well,  III.,  2. 

"  Banish  your  dotage  ;  banish  usury. 
That  makes  the  senate  ugly." — Timon  of  Athens,  III.,  5. 

"  And,  for  I  know  your  reverend  ages  love  security, 
I  '11  pawn  my  victories,  all  my  honor  to  you. 
Upon  his  good  returns." — Id. 

"  Pity  not  honor'd  age  for  his  white  beard. 
He's  an  usurer." — Id.,  IV.,  3. 

"  Well,  thou  shalt  see,  thy  eyes  shall  be  the  judge, 
The  difference  of  old  Shylock  and  Bassanio." 

— Merchant  of  Venice,  II.,  5. 

"  Where  Hotspur's  father,  old  Northumberland, 
Lies  crafty-sick." — //.,  Henry  IV.,  Induction. 

"  That  villainous  abominable  misleader  of  youth, 
Falstaff,  that  old  white-bearded  Satan." — Id.,  II..  J/.- 


138  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  I  know  thee  not,  old  man  :  fall  to  tliy  progress ; 
How  ill  white  hairs  become  a  fool  and  jester! 
I  have  long  dreamed  of  such  a  kind  of  man, 
So  surfeit  swell'd,  so  old,  and  so  profane." — Id.,  V.,  5. 
'•'•  Parje.  Old.  eold,  withered,  and  of  intolerable  entrails? 
Ford.  And  one  that  is  as  slanderous  as  Satan?" 

— MerryW'uies,  V.,  5. 
"  Hast  thou  forgot 
The  foul  witch  Sycorax,  who,  with  age  and  envy, 
Was  grown  into  a  hoop?" — Temjjest,  I.,  3. 
"  Old  I  do  wax ;   and  from  my  weary  limbs 

Honor  is  cudgell'd." — Hewy  V.,  V.,  2. 
"  I  do  see  the  bottom  of  Justice  Shallow.  How  subject  we 
old  men  are  to  the  vice  of  lying!  This  same  starved  justice 
hath  done  nothing  but  prate  to  me  of  the  wildness  of  his  youth, 
and  the  feats  he  hath  done  about  Turnbull  Street ;  and  every 
third  word  a  lie,  duer  paid  to  the  hearer  than  the  Turk's  trib- 
ute."—//., Henry  IV.,  Ill,  2. 

^'•Flavins.  They  answer  in  a  joint  and  corporate  voice 
That  now  they  are  at  fall,  want  treasure,  cannot 
Do  what  they  would ;   .   .   . 
Timon.  You  Gods  reward  them ! 

Pr'ythee,  man,  look  cheerily !     These  old  fellows 
Have  their  ingratitude  in  them  hereditary : 
Their  blood  is  caked,  't  is  cold,  it  seldom  flows, 
'T  is  lack  of  kindly  warmth,  they  are  not  kind ; 
And  nature,  as  it  grows  again  towards  earth, 
Is  fasliioned  for  the  journey,  dull  and  heavy." 

— Timon  of  Athens,  II.,  2. 
"  And  thy  unkindness  be  like  crooked  age." 

— Richard  II.,  II.,  1. 
"  And  let  them  die  that  age  and  sullens  have ; 

For  both  hast  thou,  and  both  become  the  grave." — Id. 
"  Pandarus.  A  tisick,  a  rascally  tisick  so  troubles  me,  and 
the  foolish  fortunes  of  this  girl ;  and  what  one  thing,  what  an- 
other, that  I  shall  leave  you  one  o'  these  days :  and  I  have  a 
rheum  in  mine  eyes  too ;  and  such  an  ache  in  my  bones,  that 
unless  a  man  were  cursed,  I  cannot  tell  what  to  think  on't."— 
Troil.  and  Cress.,  V.,  3. 

The  Nurse,  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  is  an  admirable  illus- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  1P)9 

tration  of  garrulity  in  old  age ;  and  to  quote  briefly  from 
Mrs.  Jamison  :  "  Her  low  humoi-,  her  shallow  garrulity, 
mixed  with  dotage  and  petulaney  of  age  —  her  subser- 
viency, her  secrecy,  and  her  total  want  of  elevated  prin- 
ciple, or  even  common  honesty  —  are  brought  before  us 
like  a  living  palpable  truth." 

(Bacon  further  observes,  in  his  History  of  Life  and 
Death  :  "  And  certainly  as  old  men  ai'e  generally  talka- 
tive and  garrulous,  so  talkative  persons  very  often  grow 
to  a  great  age ;  for  it  betokens  a  light  contemplation,  and 
one  that  does  not  greatly  distress  or  vex  the  spirits ; 
whereas  subtle,  acute,  and  eager  inquisition  shortens  life  ; 
for  it  fatigues  and  preys  upon  the  spirits." 

"  Gratlano.  You  look  not  well,  signior  Antonio : 
You  have  too  much  respect  upon  the  workl : 
They  lose  it  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care. 
Believe  me,  you  are  marvelously  changed. 
Antonio.  I  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  Gratiano ; 
A  stage,  where  every  man  must  play  a  part, 
And  mine  a  sad  one.* 
Ch'atiano.  Let  me  play  the  Fool :  t 

*  See  ante,  page  62. 

t "  Moreover  the  course  of  life  should,  if  possible,  be  so  ordered 
that  it  may  have  many  and  various  restorations ;  and  the  spir- 
its may  not  grow  torpid  by  perpetual  intercourse  with  the  same 
things.  For  though  Seneca  said  well,  '  A  fool  is  always  begin- 
ning to  live,'  yet  this  folly,  like  many  others,  contributes  to 
ionf/evity." — History  of  Life  and  Death. 

"  I  am  sure  care 's  an  enemy  to  life." — Twelfth  Night,  /.,  3. 
"Bos.  You  '11  ne'er  be  friends  with  him  ;  he  kill'd  your  sister. 
Kath.  He  made  her  melancholy,  sad,  and  lieavy ; 
And  so  she  died :   had  she  been  light,  like  you. 
Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit. 
She  might  have  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died : 
And  so  may  you ;  for  a  light  heart  lives  long.'' 

—L.  L.  L.,  v.,  2. 
"  And  frame  your  mind  to  mirth  and  merriment. 
Which  bars  a  thousand  harms,  and  lengthens  life."" 

—  Taming  of  the  Shreiv,  Induction. 


140  FRANCIS    BACON 

With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come; 

And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine, 

IMian  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 

Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within. 

Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster? 

Sleep  when  he  wakes?  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 

By  being  peevish." — Merchant  of  Venice,  I.,  1. 
"  Though  I  look  old,  yet  am  I  strong  and  lusty : 

For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 

Plot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood  .• 

Nor  did  not  in  unbashful  forehead  woo 

The  means  of  weakness  and  debility ; 

Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 

Frosty  but  kindly."— ^s  You  Like  It,  II.,  3*) 
"  You  cannot  call  it  love :   for  at  your  age 

The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it 's  humble, 

And  waits  upon  i\\e  judgment." — Hamlet,  III.,  J/.. 
"  Othello.    Give  me  your  hand:  this  hand  is  moist,  my  lady. 

Desd.  It  yet  has  felt  no  age,  nor  known  no  sorrow. 

0th.  This  argues  fruitfulness  and  liberal  heart: 

Hot,  hot,  and  moist :  this  hand  of  yours  requires 

A  s.eiiuester  from  liberty,  fasting  and  prayer, 

Much  castigation,  exercise  devout ; 

For  here 's  a  young  and  sweating  devil  here, 

That  commonly  rebels.     'Tis  a  good  hand, 

K  frank  one." — Othello,  III.,  4- 

"  The  brain  may  devise  laws  for  the  blood ;  but  a  hot  tem- 
per leaps  o'er  a  cold  decree :  such  a  hare  is  madness,  the  youth, 
to  skip  o'er  the  meshes  of  good  counsel,  the  cripple." — Merchant 
of  Venice,  I,  2. 

*  "  As  therefore  strong  drink,  spices,  and  the  like,  inflame 
the  fipirits  and  shorten  life,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  nitre  com- 
poses and  restrains  the  spirits  and  tends  to  longevity." 

"  Now  the  spirits  are  continued  in  the  same  state  by  restraint 
of  the  affections,  temperance  of  diet,  abstinence  from  sexual 
intercourse,  refraining  from  labor,  and  moderate  rest.  They  are 
overpowered  and  altered  by  the  contrary ;  namely,  by  violent 
affections,  profuse  feasting,  immoderate  indulgence  of  the  sexual 
appetite,  arduous  labors,  intense  study  and  business." — History 
of  Life  and  Death. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  1 4  '. 

'*  Had  she  affections  and  warm  youthful  blood, 
She  would  be  as  swift  in  motion  as  a  ball ; 
My  words  would  bandy  her  to  my  sweet  love, 
And  his  to  me. 

But  old  folks,  many  feign  as  they  were  dead ; 
Unwieldy,  slow,  heavy  and  pale  as  lead." 

—  Romeo  and  Juliet,  II.,  5. 

"  for  youth  no  less  becomes 
The  light  and  careless  livery  that  it  wears, 
Than  settled  age  his  sables,  and  his  weeds, 
Importing  health  and  graveness." — Hamlet,  IV.,  7. 

"  There  is  not  a  white  hair  on  your  face  but  should  have  his 
effect  of  gravity."—//.,  Heiirij  IV.,  /.,  2.* 

"  To  approve  my  youth  further  I  will  not :  the  truth  is,  I  am 
old  in  judgment  and  understanding." — Id. 

"  Old  folks  you  know  have  discretion,  as  they  say,  and  know 
the  world." — Merry  Wives,  II.,  2. 

"though  I  now  be  old  and  of  the  peace." — Id.,  II.,  3. 

"  As  you  are  old  and  reverend,  you  should  be  wise." 

— King  Lear,  I.,  4- 

'■^Polonius.  It  seems  it  is  as  proper  to  our  age 
To  cast  beyond  ourselves  in  our  opinions. 
As  it  is  common  for  the  younger  sort 
To  lack  discretion." — Hamlet,  II.,  1. 

"  Young  in  limbs,  in  judgment  old." 

— Mercliant  of  Venice,  II.,  7. 

"I  never  knew  so  young  a  body  with  so  old  a  head." 

—Id.,  IV.,  1. 

"As  venerable  Nestor,  hatch'd  in  silver, 
Should  with  a  bond  of  air,  strong  as  the  axle-tree 
On  which  the  heavens  ride,  knit  all  Greeks'  ears 
To  his  experienced  tongue." — Troll,  and  Cress.,  I.,  3. 

*  "  Shallow.  I  have  lived  fourscore  years  and  upward ;  I  have 
never  heard  a  man  of  his  place,  gravity,  and  learning,  so  wide 
of  his  own  respect." — Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  III.,  1. 

("  Be  not,  Sir,  a  mean  to  prefer  to  those  places  for  any  by- 
respect  ;  but  only  such  as  for  their  learning,  gravity,  and  worth 
are  deserving." — Letter  to  Villiers.) 


142  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  3Iet.  0  let  us  have  him  ;  for  his  silver  hairs 
Will  purchase  us  a  good  opinion, 
And  buy  men's  voices  to  commend  our  deeds : 
It  shall  be  said  his  judgment  ruled  our  hands; 
Our  youths  and  wildness,  shall  no  whit  appear, 
But  all  be  buried  in  his  gx'avity. 

Brutus.  O,  name  him  not ;  let  us  not  break  with  him ;  * 

For  he  will  never  follow  anything 

That  other  men  begin." — Julius  Cwsar,  II.,  1. 

We  close  with  an  appropriate  refrain,  from  the  Poet's 

Pasaiouate  Pilgrim : 

"  Crabbed  age  and  youth 

Cannot  live  together ; 
Youth  is  full  of  pleasance, 

Age  is  full  of  care : 
Youth  is  like  summer  morn, 

Age  like  winter  weather  ; 
Youth  like  summer  brave, 

Age  like  winter  bare- 
Youth  is  full  of  sport, 
Age's  breath  is  short ; 

Youth  is  nimble,  age  is  lame: 
Youth  is  hot  and  bold. 
Age  is  weak  and  cold ; 

Youth  is  wild  and  age  is  tame. 
Age,  I  do  abhor  thee. 
Youth.  I  do  adore  thee; 

O,  my  love,  my  love  is  young ! 
Age,  I  do  defy  thee ; 
O,  sweet  shepherd,  hie  thee. 

For,  methinks  thou  stay'st  too  long." 

*  See  ante.)  page  87,  note. 

Note. — Hope,  one  of  the  trinity  of  man's  spiritual  ble.s&iiigs, 
is  another  subject  that  receives  pecuHar  treatment  in  many  pas- 
sages in  the  plays : 

"  The  ample  proposition  that  hope  makes 
In  all  designs  begun  on  earth  below, 
Fails  in  the  promised  largeness." 

—  Troll,  and  Cress.,  /.,  3. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  148 

"  But,  by  your  leave,  it  never  yet  did  hurt, 

To  lay  down  likelihoods,  and  forms  of  hope." 

— //.,  Henry  IV.,  L,  3. 
"  I  will  despair,  and  be  at  enmity 

With  cozening  hope ;  he  is  a  flatterer, 

A  parasite,  a  keeper  back  of  death, 

Who  gently  would  dissolve  the  bands  of  life. 

Which  false  hope  lingers  in  extremity." 

— Richard  II.,  II.,  2. 
"Do  not  satisfy  your  resolution  with  hopes  that  are  faUible.  ' 

— Measure  for  Measure,  III,  1. 
"  Hope  is  a  curtal  dog  in  some  affairs." 

— Merry  Wives,  II.,  1. 
"  Even  here  I  will  put  off  my  hope,  and  keep  it 

No  longer  for  my  flatterer." — Temj)est,  III.,  3. 
"  Thoughts  speculative  their  unseen  hopes  relate ; 

But  certain  issue,  strokes  must  arbitrate." — Macb.,  V.,  J/.. 
"  Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there 

Where  most  it  promises  ;   and  oft  it  hits 

Where  hope  is  coldest,  and  despair  most  fits." 

—AlVs  Well,  II.,  1. 
"  And  hope  to  joy  is  little  less  in  joy 

Than  hope  enjoyed." — Richard  II.,  II.,  3. 
"  Duke.  So  then  you  hope  of  pardon  from  Lord  Angelo? 

Claud.  The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine, 

But  only  hope : 

I  have  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepared  to  die. 

Duke.  Be  absolute  for  death ;  either  death  or  life, 

Shall  thereby  be  the  sweeter." — Meas.  for  Meas.,  IV.,  1. 

But  Bacon  gives  valid  reasons  for  this  peculiar  view  of  hope. 
In  his  Meditation,  Of  Earthly  Hope,  he  says : 

"  The  sense  which  ta^kes  everything  simply  as  it  is  makes  a 
better  mental  condition  and  estate  than  those  imaginations  and 
wanderings  of  the  mind.  .  .  .  But  in  hope  there  seems  to  be 
no  use.  For  what  avails  that  anticipation  of  good  ?  If  the 
good  turn  out  less  than  you  hoped  for,  good  though  it  be,  yet 
because  it  is  not  so  good,  it  seems  to  you  more  like  a  loss  than 
a  gain,  by  reason  of  the  overhope.  If  neither  more  nor  less,  but 
so ;  the  event  being  equal  and  answerable  to  the  hope ;  yet  the 


144  FRANCIS    BACON 


flower  of  it  having  been  by  that  hope  aheacly  gathered,  you 
find  it  a  stale  thing  and  ahnost  distasteful.  If  the  good  be  be- 
yond the  hope,  then  no  doubt  there  is  a  sense  of  gain :  true : 
yet  had  it  not  been  better  to  gain  the  whole  by  hoping  not  at 
all,  than  the  difference  by  hoping  too  little?  .  .  .  Certainly  in 
all  delay  and  expectation, to  keep  the  mind  tranquil  and  stead- 
fast by  the  good  government  and  composure  of  the  same,  I 
hold  to  be  the  chief  firmament  of  human  life ;  but  such  tran- 
quility as  depends  upon  hope  I  reject,  as  light  and  unsure.  Not 
but  it  is  fit  to  see  and  presuppose  upon  sound  and  sober  conjec- 
ture good  things  as  well  as  evil,  that  we  may  the  better  fit  our 
actions  to  the  probable  event :  only  this  must  be  the  work  of 
the  understanding  and  judgment,  with  a  just  inclination  of  the 
feeling.  But  who  is  there  whose  hopes  are  so  ordered  that 
when  once  he  has  concluded  with  himself  out  of  a  vigilant  and 
steady  consideration  of  probabilities  that  better  things  are  com- 
ing, he  has  not  dwelt  upon  the  very  anticipation  of  good,  and 
indulged  in  that  kind  of  thought  as  in  a  pleasant  dream  ?  And 
this  it  is  which  makes  the  mind  light,  frothy,  unequal,  wander- 
ing. Therefore  all  hope  is  to  be  employed  upon  the  life  to  come 
in  heaven:  but  here  on  earth,  by  how  much  purer  is  the  sense 
of  things  present,  without  infection  or  tincture  of  imagination, 
by  so  much  wiser  and  better  is  the  soul. 

Long  hope  to  cherish  in  so  short  a  span 
Befits  not  man." 

(See  also  Works,  Vol.  4,  p.  382 ;  Vol.  5,  pp.  48,  203,  279 ; 
Vol.  6,  p.  751.) 

And  among  his  AiJotherjms  is  the  following :  "  There  were 
fishermen  drawing  the  river  at  Chelsea:  Mr.  Bacon  came  thither 
by  chance  in  the  afternoon,  and  offered  to  buy  their  draught : 
They  were  willing.  He  asked  them  what  they  would  take? 
They  asked  thirty  shillings.  Mr.  Bacon  offered  them  ten.  They 
refused  it.  '  Why  then,'  saith  Mr.  Bacon,  '  I  will  be  only  a 
looker  on.'  They  drew  and  catched  nothing.  Saith  Mr.  Bacon  : 
'  Are  you  not  mad  fellows  now,  that  might  have  had  an  angel 
in  your  purse,  to  have  made  merry  witlial,  and  to  have  warmed 
you  thoroughly,  and  now  you  must  go  home  with  nothing.' 
'Ay  but,'  said  the  fishermen,  'we  had  hope  then  to  make  a 
better  gain  of  it.'  Saith  Mr.  Bacon  :  '  Well,  my  masters,  then 
I'll  tell  you,  hope  is  a  good  breakfast,  but  it  is  a  bad  supper.'  " 


AND    HIS    SnAKESPEARE.  145 

THE  FLOWERS  IN  THEIR  SEASONS. 

Many  other  like  topics  might  be  presented  in  further 
ilkistration,  hut  their  effect  would  be  merely  cumulative. 
There  is  room  for  but  one  more,  presented  in  somewhat 
different  form  because  of  its  threefold  guise.  Bacon's  ob- 
servations of  the  Flowers  in  their  Seasons  appear  un- 
adorned in  his  Natural  History,  clothed  in  sober  prose 
in  his  Essay,  Of  Gardens,  and  in  the  bright  garb  of  po- 
etry in  The  Winter  s  Tale.  The  Essay  and  the  Poem  are 
Literature,  and  the  three,  taken  together,  form  an  unique 
object  lesson  in  its  study.  We  can  only  present  them  in 
order,  leaving  to  the  reader  to  note  their  characteristic 
variations. 

Natural  History,  §  577  :  '■'■  Experiment  in  consoi^t  touch- 
ing the  seasons  in  which  j^lants  come  forth :  There  be 
some  flowers,  blossoms,  grains,  and  fruits,  which  come 
more  early,  and  others  which  come  more  late  in  the  year. 
The  flowers  that  come  early  with  us  are  primroses,  violets, 
anemones,  water-daffodillies,  crocus  vernus,  and  some  early 
tulippas.  And  they  are  all  cold  plants ;  which  therefore 
(as  it  should  seem)  have  a  quicker  perception  of  the  heat 
of  the  sun  increasing  than  the  hot  herbs  have  ;  as  a  cold 
hand  v/ill  sooner  find  a  little  warmth  than  a  hot.  And 
those  that  come  next  after  are  wall-flowers,  cowslips,  hya- 
cinths, rosemary  flov/ers,  etc. ;  and  after  them  pinks,  roses, 
flower-de-luces,  etc. ;  and  the  latest  are  gilly-flowers,  hol- 
ly-oaks, larks-foot,  etc.  The  earliest  blossoms  are  the 
blossoms  of  peaches,  almonds,  cornelians,  mezerions,  etc.  ; 
and  they  are  of  such  trees  as  have  much  moisture,  either 
watery  or  oily.  And  therefore  crocus  vernus  also,  being 
an  herb  that  hath  an  oily  juice,  putteth  forth  early  ;  for 
those  also  find  the  sun  sooner  than  the  drier  trees."  "  §  592  : 
Of  plants,  some  are  green  all  winter ;  others  cast  their 
leaves.  There  are  green  all  winter,  holly,  ivy,  box,  fir, 
yew,  cypress,  juniper,  bays,  rosemary,  etc.  The  cause  of 
the  holding  green  is  the  close  and  compact  substance  of 
their  leaves,  and  the  pedicles  of  them." 


146  FRANCIS    BACON 

Essay,  Of  Gardens :  "  God  Almighty  first  planted  a 
(jarden.  And  indeed  it  is  the  purest  of  human  pleasures. 
It  is  the  greatest  refreshment  to  the  spirits  of  man  ;  with- 
out which  buildings  and  palaces  are  but  gross  handy- 
works  :  and  a  man  shall  ever  see  that  when  ages  grow  to 
civility  and  eleganc}^,  men  come  to  build  stately  sooner 
than  to  garden  finely  ;  as  if  gardening  were  the  greater 
perfection.  I  do  hold  it,  in  the  royal  ordering  of  gardens, 
there  ought  to  be  gardens  for  all  the  months  in  the  year  ; 
in  which  severally  things  of  beauty  may  be  then  in  season. 
For  December,  and  January,  and  the  latter  part  of  No- 
vember, you  must  take  such  things  as  are  green  all  win- 
ter :  holly  ;  ivy  ;  bays  ;  juniper  ;  cypress-trees  ;  yew  ;  pine 
apple-trees  :  fir-trees  ;  rosemary  ;  lavender  ;  periwinkles, 
the  white,  the  purple,  and  the  blue ;  germander ;  flags  ; 
orange-trees  ;  lemon-trees  ;  and  myrtles,  if  they  be  stoved  ; 
and  sweet  majorum,  warm  set.  There  followeth,  for  the 
latter  part  of  January  and  February,  the  mezereon-tree, 
which  then  blossoms ;  crocus  vernus,  both  tlie  yellow  and 
the  grey  ;  primroses  ;  anemones  ;  the  early  tulippa  ;  liya- 
cinthus  orientalis;  chamairis ;  fritellaria.  For  March, 
there  come  violets,  specially  the  single  blue,  which  are  the 
earliest ;  the  yellow  daffodil ;  the  daisy  ;  the  almond-tree 
in  blossom ;  the  peach-tree  in  blossom  ;  the  cornelian-tree 
in  blossom ;  sweet-briar.  In  April  follow  the  double 
white  violet ;  the  wall-flower ;  the  stock-gilliflower ;  the 
cowslip  ;  flower-de-luces,  and  lilies  of  all  natures  ;  rose- 
mary-flowers ;  the  tulippa  ;  the  double  piony  ;  the  pale  daf- 
fodil ;  the  French  honeysuckle ;  the  cherry-tree  in  blossom  ; 
the  dammascene  and  plum-trees  in  blossom  ;  the  white  thorn 
in  leaf ;  the  lilac-tree.  In  May  and  June  come  pinks  of 
all  sorts,  specially  the  blush-pink ;  roses  of  all  kinds,  ex- 
cept the  musk,  which  comes  later  ;  honeysuckles  ;  straw- 
berries ;  bugloss  ;  columbine  ;  the  French  marigold  ;  flos 
Africanus  ;  cherry-tree  in  fruit ;  ribes  ;  figs  in  fruit ;  rasps  ; 
vine-flowers  ;  lavender  in  flowers ;  the  sweet  satyrian,  with 
the  white  flower  ;  herba  nnascaria  ;  lilium  convallium  ;  the 
apple-tree  in  blossom.     In  July  come  giliifiowers  of  all 


AND    niS    SHAKESPEARE.  147 

varieties  ;  musk-roses ;  the  lime-tree  in  blossom  ;  early  pears 
and  plums  in  fruit ;  genitings,  codlins.  In  August  come 
l)lums  of  all  sorts  in  fruit ;  pears  ;  apricots  ;  barberries  ; 
filberds  ;  musk-melons ;  monks-hoods,  of  all  colors.  In 
September  come  grapes ;  apples ;  poppies  of  all  colors  ; 
peaches ;  melocotones  ;  nectarines  ;  cornelians  ;  wardens  ; 
quinces.  In  October  come  services  :  medlars  ;  bullaces  ; 
roses  cut  or  removed  to  come  late ;  holly-oaks  ;  and  such 
like.  These  particulars  are  for  the  climate  of  London  ; 
but  my  meaning  is  perceived,  that  you  may  have  ver 'per- 
petumn^  as  the  place  affords.  And  because  the  breath 
of  flowers  is  far  sweeter  in  the  air  (where  it  comes  and 
goes  like  the  warbling  of  music)  than  in  the  hand,  there- 
fore nothing  is  more  fit  for  that  delight,  than  to  know 
what  be  the  flowers  and  plants  that  do  best  perfume  the 
air,"  etc. 

A  Winter's  Tale,  IV.,  3: 

^'Perdita.    ( To  Polixenes).     Sir,  welcome! 
It  is  my  father's  will  I  should  take  on  me 
The  hostess-ship  o'  the  day. — (  To  Camillo) 
You're  welcome,  sir  !  — 

Give  me  those  flowers  there,  Dorcas. —  Reverend  sirs, 
For  you  there 's  rosemary,  and  rue  ;  these  keep 
Seeming,  and  savor,  all  the  winter  long: 
Grace,  and  remembrance  be  to  you  both, 
And  welcome  to  our  shearing ! 
Pol.  Shepherdess, 

(A  fair  one  are  you)  well  you  fit  our  ages 
With  flowers  of  winter. 

Per.  Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient, — 

Not  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling  winter, —  the  fairest  flowers  o'  the  season 
Are  our  carnations,  and  streak'd  gillyvors, 
Which  some  call  natui-e's  bastards :  o'  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden's  barren ;  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them." 

("  Take  gilly-flower  seed,  of  one  kind  of  gilly-flower, 
(as  of  the  clove-gilly-flower,  which  is  the  most  common), 
and  sow  it ;  and  there  will  come  up  gilly -flowers,  some  of 


148  FRANCIS    BACON 

one  color  and  some  of  another,  casually,  as  the  seed  meet- 
eth  nourishment  in  the  earth ;  so  that  the  gardeners  find 
that  they  may  have  two  or  three  roots  amongst  an  hun- 
dred that  are  rare  and  of  great  price ;  as  purple,  carna- 
tion of  several  strijyes :  the  cause  is  (no  doubt)  that  in 
earth,  though  it  be  contiguous  and  in  one  bed,  there  are 
very  several  juices ;  and  as  the  seed  doth  casually  meet 
with  thern^  so  it  cometh  forth." — Natural  History,  ^  510.) 

«  Pol.  Wherefore,  gentle  maiden, 

Do  you  neglect  tlieiu  ? 

Per.  For  I  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art  which,  in  their  piedness,  shares 
With  great  creating  nature." 

("Amongst  curiosities  I  shall  place  coloration,  though  it 
be  somewhat  better ;  for  beauty  in  flowers  is  their  pre- 
eminence. It  is  observed  by  some,  that  gilly-flowers, 
sweet-williams,  violets,  that  are  colored,  if  they  be  neg- 
lected, and  neither  watered,  nor  new  moulded,  nor  trans- 
planted, will  turn  white.  And  it  is  prohahle  that  the 
lohite  with  much  cidture  may  turn  colored.  For  this  is 
certain,  that  the  white  color  cometh  of  scarcity  of  nour- 
ishment ;  except  in  flowers  that  are  only  white,  and  admit 
of  no  other  colors.*  It  is  good,  therefore,  to  see  what 
natures  do  accompany  what  colors ;  for  by  that  you  shall 
have  light  how  to  induce  colors,  hy  producing  those  na- 
tures.""— Natural  History,  §  506-7.) 

"  Pol.  Say,  there  be; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean :  so,  over  that  art, 

*  "  She,  in  my  judgment,  was  as  fair  as  you ; 
But  since  she  did  neglect  her  looking-glass, 
And  threw  her  sun-expelling  mask  away. 
The  air  hath  starved  the  roses  in  her  cheeks." 
— Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  IV.,  4- 

("  So  blue  violets  and  other  flowers,  if  they  be  starved,  turn 
pale  and  wliite." — Natural  History,  §  93.) 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  149 

Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes." 

("  All  I  mean  is,  that  nature,  like  Proteus,  is  forced 
by  art  to  do  that  which  without  art  would  not  be  done  ; 
call  it  which  you  will, — force  and  bonds,  or  help  and  per- 
fection. ...  As  for  instance, when  a  man  makes  the  ap- 
pearance  of  a  rainbow  on  a  wall  by  the  sprinkling  of 
water,  nature  does  the  work  for  him,  just  as  much  as  when 
the  same  effect  is  produced  in  the  air  by  a  dripping  cloud  ; 
and  on  the  other  hand  when  gold  is  found  pure  in  sands, 
nature  does  the  work  for  herself  just  as  much  as  if  it  were 
refined  by  the  furnace  and  human  appliances.    Sometimes 
again  the  ministering  office  is  by  the  law  of  the  universe 
deputed  to  other  animals ;  for  honey,  which  is  made  by 
the  industry  of  the  bee,  is  no  less  artificial  than  sugar, 
which  is  made  by  man  ;  and  in  manna  (which  is  a  thing 
of  like  kind)  nature  asks  no  help,  but  does  all  herself. 
Therefore,  as  nature  is  one  and  the  same,  and  her  power 
extends  through  things,  nor  does  she  ever  forsake  herself, 
these  three  things  should  by  all  means  be  set  down  as 
all  alike  subordinate  only  to  nature ;  namely,  the  course  of 
nature ;  the  wandering  of  nature  ;  and  art,  or  nature  with 
man  to  help." — Description  of  the  Intellectual  Globe.)* 
"  You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 
A  gentle  scion  to  the  wildest  stock ; 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race :  this  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature, —  change  it  rather  :  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature." 
("  As  grafting  doth  generally  advance  and  meliorate 
fruits,  above  that  which  they  would  be  if  they  were  set  of 
kernels  or  stones,   in  regard   the  nourishment  is  bettei- 
concocted ;  so  (no  doubt),  even  in  grafting,  for  the  sain(! 
cause,  the  choice  of  the  stock  doth  much ;  alivays  ])ro- 

*  The  attentive  reader  will  discern  that,  not  only  observa- 
tions, but  inductions  therefrom,  or  in  other  words,  sound  phi- 
losophy, is  an  element  properly  entering  into  the  composition 
uf  the  truest  poetry. 


150  FKANCIS    BACON 

vlded  that  it  he  somewliat  inferior  to  the  scion;  for  other- 
wise, it  dulleth  it.  They  commend  much  the  grafting  of 
pears  or  apples  upon  a  quince."  —  Natural  History^  § 
467. 

"For  art,  which  is  meant  by  Alanta,  is  in  itself,  if 
nothing  stand  in  the  way,  far  swifter  than  nature,  and,  as 
one  may  say,  the  better  runner,  and  comes  sooner  to  the 
goal.  For  this  may  be  seen  in  almost  everything ;  you 
see  that  fruit  grows  sloioly  from  the  kernel,  sioiftly  from 
the  graft ;  you  see  clay  hardens  slowly  into  stones,  fast 
into  baked  bricks :  so  also  in  morals,  oblivion  and  com- 
fort of  grief  comes  by  nature  in  length  of  time ;  but  phil- 
osophy (which  may  be  regarded  as  the  art  of  living)  does 
it  without  waiting  so  long,  but  forestalls  and  anticipates 
the  day." —  Wisdo?n  of  the  Ancients,  XXV.)  * 

"  Per.  So  it  is. 

Pol.  Then  make  your  garden  rich  in  gillyvors, 
And  do  not  call  them  bastards. 
Per.  I  '11  not  put 

The  dibble  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them : 
No  more  than,  were  I  painted,  I  would  wish 
This  youth  to  say,  't  were  well ;  and  only  therefore 
Desix'e  to  breed  by  me." 

(A  delicate  touch  :  see  above  "  the  white  with  much 
culture  may  turn  colored.'''' ) 

—  "  Here 's  flowers  for  you ; 
Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram  ; 

*  '■'Bruttis.  O  Cassius,  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 
Cassius.  Of  your  j^hllosoph//  you  make  no  use, 
If  you  give  place  to  accidental  evils. 

Brutus.  No  man  bears  sorrow  better : — Portia  is  dead.   ,  .  . 
Why,  farewell,  Portia, — We  must  die,  Messala : 
With  meditating  that  she  must  die  once, 
I  have  the  patience  to  endure  it  now. 
Mes.  Even  so  great  men  great  losses  should  endure. 
Cassius.  1  have  us  much  of  this  in  art  as  you, 
But  yet  my  nature  could  not  bear  it  so." 

—  Julius  Ca-sar,  IF.,  3. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  161 

The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  with  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping ;  " 

("  Some  of  the  ancients  and  likewise  divers  of  the 
modern  writers  that  have  labored  in  natural  magic,  have 
noted  a  sympathy  between  the  sun,  moon,  and  some  prin- 
cipal stars,  and  certain  herbs  and  plants.  And  so  they 
have  denominated  some  herbs  '  solar  '  and  some  '  lunar  '; 
and  such  like  toys  put  into  great  words.  It  is  manifest 
that  there  are  some  flowers  that  have  respect  to  the  sun  ; 
in  two  kinds  ;  the  one  by  opening  and  shutting,  and  the 
other  by  bowing  and  inclining  the  head.  For  marygolds^ 
tulippas,  pimpernal,  and  indeed  most  flowers,  do  open 
or  spread  their  leaves  abroad  when  the  sun  shineth  serene 
and  fair :  and  again  (in  some  part)  close  them  or  gather 
them  inward,  either  towards  night,  or  when  the  sky  is 
overcast.  Of  this  there  needeth  no  such  solemn  reason 
to  be  assigned,  as  to  say  that  they  rejoice  at  the  presence 
of  the  sun,  and  mourn  at  the  absence  thereof.  For  it  is 
nothing  else  but  a  little  loading  of  the  leaves  and  swell- 
ing them  at  the  bottom  with  the  moisture  of  the  air ; 
whereas  the  dry  air  doth  extend  them." —  Natural  His- 
tory, §  493.) 

"  these  are  the  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and,  I  think,  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age :  you  are  very  welcome. 
Cam.  I  should  leave  grazing,  were  I  of  your  flock, 
And  only  live  by  gazing. 
Per.  Out,  alas! 

You  'd  be  so  lean,  that  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow  you  through  and  through. — 

Now,  my  fairest  friend, 
I  would  I  had  some  flowers  o'  the  spring,  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day  ;  and  yours,  and  yours  ; 
That  wear  your  virgin  branches  yet. 
Your  maidenheads  growing :  O,  Proserpina, 
For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  let'st  fall 
From  Dis's  wagon  !  " 
("  Seizing  his  opportunity  therefore,  while  Proserpina, 
daughter  of  Ceres,  a  fair  virgin,  was  gathering  flowers  of 


JU, 


152  FK.vNCIS    BACON 

Narcissus  in  the  Sicilian  meadows,  he  [Pluto]  rushed 
suddenly  upon  her  and  carried  her  off  in  his  chariot  to 
the  subterranean  regions.  Great  reverence  was  paid  her 
there :  so  much  that  she  was  even  called  the  Mistress  or 
Queen  of  Dis." —  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients — Proserpina. 
"  And  it  was  a  beautiful  thought  to  choose  the  flower 
of  spring  as  an  emblem  of  characters  like  this  :  characters 
which  in  the  opening  of  their  career  flourish  and  are  talked 
of,  but  disappoint  in  maturity  the  promise  of  their  youth.'''' 
— Id. — Narcissus.) 

"  daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty  ;  violets  dim 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea's  breath  ;  " 

("  That  which,  ahove  all  others,  yields  the  sweetest  smell 
in  the  air  is  the  violet,  especially  the  lohitc  double  violet, 
which  comes  twice  a  year,  about  the  middle  of  April,  and 
about  Bartholomew-tide." — Of  Gardens.)* 

*  "  That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odor." 

—Tivelfth  Night,  /.,  1. 
"The  violet  smells  to  him  as  it  doth  to  me." 

—Henry  V.,  IV.,  1. 
"  A  violet  in  the  youth  of  jirimy  nature, 
Forward,  not  permanent,  sweet,  not  lasting, 
The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute." 

— Hamlet,  I.,  S. 
"  To  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily. 
To  throw  a  j^erfume  on  the  violet," 

— King  John,  IV.,  2. 
"  But  purposing  to  be  at  Chiswick  (where  I  have  taken  a 
house)  within  this  seven  nights,  I  hope  to  wait  upon  your  Lord- 
ship, and  to  gather  some  violets  in  your  garden." — Letter  to 
the  Lord  Treasurer. 

Bacon  was  not  only  a  lover  of  flowers  and  music,  but  his  sensi- 
tive organization  was  so  higldy  attuned,  that  his  cliaplain.  Dr. 
Rawley,  relates  of  him  what  seems  ahnost  incredible : 

"  It  may  seem  the  moon  had  some  principal  i)lace  in  the  figure 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  153 

"  pale  primroses. 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phcebus  in  his  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids  ;  " 
("  The  general  color  of  plants  is  green,  which  is  a  color 
that  no  flower  is  of.     There  is  a  greenish  primrose,  but  it 
is  pale,  and  scarce  a  green." — Natural  History,  §  512.) 

"bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown  imperial ;  lilies  of  all  kinds, 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one  !      Oh  !  these  I  lack, 
To  make  you  garlands  of ;  and  my  sweet  friend, 
To  strew  him  o'er  and  o'er." 
That  this  poetic  picture  may  appear  all  the  brighter  by 
contrast,  we  complete  its  sober  frame  by  a  return  to  prose  ; 
quoting,  "  to  point  a  moral,"  the  following  terse  exposi- 
tion of  a  liigher  order  of  gardening,  the  comparative  value 
of  which  cannot  be  over-estimated  : 

"  Our  bodies  are  our  gardens  ;  to  the  which  our  wits 
are  gardeners :  so  that  if  we  will  plant  nettles,  or  sew  let- 
tuce ;  set  hyssop,  and  weed  up  thyme ;  supply  it  with  one 
gender  of  herbs,  or  distract  it  with  many  ;  either  to  have 
it  sterile  with  idleness,  or  manured  with  industry ;  why, 
the  power  and  corrigible  authority  of  this  lies  in  our  wills."* 

of  his  nativity:  for  the  moon  was  never  in  her  passion,  or 
eclipsed,  but  he  was  surprised  with  a  sudden  fit  of  fainting  ;  and 
that,  though  he  observed  not  nor  took  any  previous  knowledge 
of  the  eclipse  thereof ;  and  as  soon  as  the  eclipse  ceased,  he 
was  restored  to  his  former  strength  again." — Dr.  Rawley's  Life 
of  Bacon. 

Of  this,  Spedding  says,  in  a  note: 

"Of  course  Rawley's  statement  is  not  sufficient  to  prove 
the  reality  of  any  such  connection  (between  the  eclipse  and  his 
fainting)  ;  but  the  fact  of  the  fainting-fits  need  not  be  doubted, 
and  may  be  fairly  taken,  I  think,  as  evidence  of  the  extreme 
delicacy  of  Bacon's  temperament,  and  its  sensibility  to  the  skyey 
influences." 

*"How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seems  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 
Fie  on 't !  O  fie  !   't  is  an  unwocded  garden, 


154  FRANCIS    BACON 


That  grows  to  seed ;  things  rank,  and  gross  in  nature, 
Possess  it  merely." — Hamlet,  /.,  2. 
"  Oh !  what  pity  is  it, 
That  he  had  not  so  trimm'd  and  dress'd  his  land, 
As  we  this  garden  !     We  at  time  of  year 
Do  wound  the  bark,  the  skin  of  our  fruit-trees ; 
Lest,  being  over-proud  with  sap  and  blood, 
With  too  much  riches  it  confound  itself : 
Had  he  done  so  to  great  and  growing  men, 
They  might  have  lived  to  bear,  and  he  to  taste 
Their  fruits  of  duty.     Superfluous  branches 
We  lop  away,  that  bearing  boughs  may  live : 
Had  he  done  so,  himself  had  borne  the  crown. 
Which  waste  and  idle  hours  hath  quite  thrown  down." 

— Richard  II.,  Ill,  J^. 
One  other  brief  example  must  be  added,  peculiarly  signifi- 
cant, because  it  embodies  a  bit  of  Bacon's  original  philosophy 
of  plant  life.     In  his  NaMiral  History,  he  obsei'ves : 

"  This  we  see  manifestly,  that  there  be  certain  cornflowers 
which  come  seldom  or  never  in  other  places,  unless  they  be  set, 
but  only  amongst  corn  :  as  the  blue-bottle,  a  kind  of  yellow  mary- 
gold,  wild  poppy,  and  fumitory.  Neither  can  this  be  by  reason  of 
the  culture  of  the  ground,  by  ploughing  or  furrowing ;  as  some 
herbs  and  flowers  will  grow  but  in  ditches  new  cast ;  for  if  tlie 
ground  lie  fallow  and  unsown,  they  will  not  come :  so  as  it 
should  seem  to  be  the  corn  that  quaUfieth  the  earth,  and  pre- 
yaretli  it  for  their  growthy 

This  observation  is  utilized  in  King  Lear,  IV.,  Jf.: 
"Alack,  'tis  he;  why  he  was  met  even  now 
As  mad  as  the  vex'd  sea :  singing  aloud ; 
With  harlocks,  hemlock,  nettles,  cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn." 

Indeed,  as  to  these  "  works  of  the  alphabet,"  Bacon's  words 
regarding  "  fame  "  are  alike  applicable : 

"  There  be  a  thousand  such  like  examples,  and  the  more  they 
are  the  less  they  need  to  be  repeated,  because  a  man  meeteth 
with  them  everywhere." 

(It  may  be  well  to  note  that  Bacon's  Natural  History  was 
not  ])ublished  until  after  his  death.) 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  155 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Having  studied,  all  too  briefly,  the  alphabet  of  the  plays, 
let  us  now  advance  a  step  and  take  up  their  Primer  ;  leav- 
ing the  successive  Readers  to  their  orderly  development. 
For  this  purpose  we  have  chosen  the  subject  of  Envy,  to 
which  Bacon,  an  experienced  courtier,  gave  especial  at- 
tention. 

Nowadays,  we  look  upon  what  we  call  envy  rather  dis- 
dainfully ;  regarding  it  as  odious  indeed,  something  from 
which  we  would  personally  be  exempt ;  as  base,  unseemly, 
and  belittling  ;  but  taking  small  pains  to  guard  ourselves 
against  it  in  others.  We  even  speak  admiringly  of  an- 
other, as  "  occupying  an  enviable  position."  But  to  Bacon, 
envy  was  a  baneful  activity,  the  incarnation  of  malice,  the 
very  apple  of  the  "  evil  eye  ";  emitting  a  subtle,  malign 
influence,  whose  venomous  ray  was  to  be  warded  off,  even 
as  one  would  guard  against  the  machinations  of  the  devil. 
It  is  needless  to  add  that  this  view  is  continually  reflected 
in  the  plays.  In  brief,  in  the  italics  of  Dr.  W.  J.  Rolfe, 
the  eminent  Shakespearean  scholar  :  "  Envy  has  here  the 
sense  often  borne  by  the  Latin  invidia,  or  nearly  the  same 
with  hatred  or  malice, —  the  sense  in  which  it  is  almost 
always  used  by  Shakespeare." 

"  As  is  the  bud  bit  with  an  envious  worm, 
Ere  he  can  spread  his  sweet  leaves  to  the  air, 
Or  dedicate  his  beauty  to  the  sun." 
In  his  Essay,  Of  Envy,  Bacon  utilized  his  observations 
in  the  development  of  its  science  ;  unfolding  the  principles 
underlying  its  activity.     In  the  i)lay  of  Julins    Cajsary 
these  same  principles  are  given  rcjjresentation  in  opera- 


156  FRANCIS    BACON 

tion ;  the  original  observations  being  wrought  into  new 
creations,  that  are  faithful  reproductions  of  the  life  they 
mirror.  The  play  partakes  of  the  complexity  of  life,  with 
its  intricate  interplay  of  many  motives,  and  is  therefore 
almost  as  great  a  puzzle. 

But  the  Essay  is  the  key  to  its  mysteries :  it  fits  per- 
fectly the  tumblers  in  the  lock.  By  its  use  we  are  ushered 
at  once  into  its  innermost  recesses,  where  we  discern  that 
Envy  is  its  dominant  chord,  its  quickening  spirit,  indeed 
the  baneful  fire  kindling  the  whole  conflagration,  and  that 
Cassius  is  its  embodiment. 

As  is  unavoidable  in  the  study  of  a  primer,  we  must 
first  spell  out  its  sentences  :  all  the  rest  is  then  easy,  and 
the  task  at  length  becomes  a  joy.  Accordingly,  we  will 
take  up  seriatim  the  salient  principles  as  they  are  success- 
ively developed  in  the  Essay,  and,  in  each  instance,  look 
into  the  play  for  their  corresponding  representation  in 
the  action. 

The  Essay  opens  with  a  general  introduction  defining 
the  nature  of  envy : 

"  There  have  been  none  of  the  affections  which  have 
been  noted  to  fascinate  or  heioiteli ^  but  love  and  envy. 
They  both  have  vehement  wishes ;  they  frame  themselves 
readily  into  imaginations  and  suggestions  ;  and  they  come 
easily  into  the  eye,  especially  upon  the  presence  of  the 
objects  ;  which  are  the  points  that  conduce  to  fascination, 
if  any  such  thing  there  be.*      We  see  likewise  the  scrip- 

*  •'  Fascination  is  the  power  and  act  of  imagination  intensive 
upon  tlie  body  of  another  (for  of  the  power  of  imagination  upon 
the  body  of  the  imaginant  I  have  spoken  above)  ;  wherein  the 
school  of  Paracelsus  and  the  disciples  of  pretended  natural  magic 
have  been  so  intemperate,  that  they  have  exalted  tbe  power  and 
ai)})rehension  of  the  imagination  to  be  much  one  with  the  power 
of  miracle-working  faith.  Others  that  draw  nearer  to  prob- 
ability, looking  with  a  clearer  eye  at  tlie  secret  workings  and 
impressions  of  things,  tbe  irradiations  of  the  senses,  tlie  j)assage 
of  contagion  from  body  to  body,  the  conveyance  of  magnetic 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  157 

tare  calleth  envy  an  evil  eye  ;*  and  the  astrologers  call 
the  evil  inflnences  of  the  stars  evil  aspects  ;  so  that  still 
there  seemeth  to  be  acknowledged  in  the  act  of  env)%  an 
ejaculation  or  irradiation  of  the  eye.  Nay,  some  have  been 
so  curious  as  to  note,  that  the  times  when  the  stroke  or 
percussion  of  an  envious  eye  doth  most  hurt,  are  when  the 
party  envied  is  beheld  In  glory  or  triumph  ;  for  that  sets 
an  edge  upon  envy :  and  besides,  at  such  times  the  spir- 
its of  the  person  envied  do  come  forth  most  into  the  out- 
ward parts,  and  so  meet  the  blow."f 

virtues,  have  concluded  that  it  is  much  more  probable  there 
should  be  impressions,  conveyances,  and  communications  from 
spirit  to  spirit  (seeing  that  the  spirit  is  above  all  other  things 
both  strenuous  to  act  and  soft  and  tender  to  be  acted  on)  ;  whence 
have  arisen  those  conceits  (now  become  as  it  were  popular)  of 
the  mastering  spirit,  of  men  unlucky  and  ill  omened,  of  the 
glances  of  love,  envy,  and  the  like."^ —  De  Augmentis,  Fourth 
Book. 

"  But  more  than  that,  he  [Perkin]  had  such  a  crafty  and  be- 
witching fashion,  both  to  move  pity,  and  to  induce  belief,  as 
was  a  kind  of  fascination  and  enchantment  to  those  that  saw 
him  or  heard  him." — History  of  Henry  VII. 

"  And  yet  boldness  is  a  child  of  ignorance  and  baseness,  far 
inferior  to  other  parts :  but,  nevertheless,  it  doth  fascinate,  and 
bind  hand  and  foot  those  that  are  either  shallow  in  judgment 
or  weak  in  courage,  which  are  the  greatest  part ;  yea,  and  pre- 
vaileth  with  wise  men  at  weak  times." — Of  Boldness. 

"  So  that  they  seem  to  have  spoken  either  figuratively,  or 
under  the  influence  of  fascination  ;  the  stronger  impression  car- 
rying the  rest  with  it." — On  Principles  and  Oriyins. 

See  also  Advancement  of  Learyiing,  Second  Book,  and  the 
whole  of  Century  X.,  Natural  History. 

*  See  Proverbs  23,  6-8 ;  Mark  7,  21,  22. 

t  "  Forth  at  your  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep." 

— Hamlet^  III.,  Jf. 

"Your  spirits  shine  through  you." — Macbeth,  III.,  1. 
"  Her  wanton  spirits  look  out 
At  every  joint  and  motive  of  her  bodJ^" 

— Troil.  and  Cress.,  IV.,  5. 


158  FRANCIS    BACON 

'hdins  C(rsar,  Act  I.,  Scene  1 : 
"  Flavins.  Is  this  a  holiday  ?  " 
"  Citizen.  But,  indeed,  sir,  we  make  holiday,  to  see  Csesav, 

and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumph.^' 

'■''Mar.  And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire? 
And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday? 
And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 
That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pomj^ey's  blood  ?  " 
"  Flav.  Go  you  down  that  way  towards  the  Capitol ; 
This  way  will  I :   disrobe  the  images, 
If  you  do  find  them  deck'd  with  ceremonies. 
Mar.  May  we  do  so? 
You  know  it  is  the  feast  of  Lupercal. 
Flav.  It  is  no  matter ;  let  no  images 
Be  hung  with  Csesar's  trophies.     I  '11  about, 
And  drive  away  the  vulgar  from  the  streets ; 
So  do  you  too,  where  you  perceive  them  thick, 
These  growing  feathers  pluck'd  from  Csesar's  wing 
Will  make  him  fly  an  ordinary  pitch ; 
Who  else  would  soar  above  the  vieiv  of  men, 
A7id  keep  us  all  in  servile  fearfulness.'" 

^^  Brutus.  What  means  this  shouting?    I  do  fear  the  people 

Choose  Csesar  for  their  king." 
"  Bridus.  Another  general  shout ! 
I  do  believe  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honors  that  are  lieap'd  on  Caesar." 

—Id.,  I.,  2. 
The  Essay  continues :  "  But  leaving  these  curiosities 
(though  not  unworthy  to  be  thought  on  in  fit  place)*  we 
will  handle,  what  persons  are  apt  to  envy  others ;  what 
persons  are  most  subject  to  be  envied  themselves  ;  and 
what  is  the  difference  between  public  and  private  envy. 
"  A  man  that  hath  no  virtue  in  himself,  ever  envieth 
virtue  in  others.  For  men's  minds  will  either  feed  upon 
their  own  good  or  upon  other's  evil ;  and  who  wanteth 
the  one  will  prey  upon  the  other ;  and  whoso  is  out  of 
hope  to  attain  to  another's  virtue,  will  seek  to  come  at 
even  hand  by  depressing  another's  fortune." 

*  See  especially,  Natural  History,  §  944. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  159 

In  the  play,  Cassius'  character  is  disclosed  in  a  few 
effective  touches : 

"  Brutus.  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 

Are  much  condemn'd  to  have  an  itching  palm : 

To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 

To  undeservers." 
"  The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corrupfmi, 

And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head." 
"  What,  shall  one  of  us, 

That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 

But  for  supporting  robbers,  shall  we  now 

Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 

And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors, 

For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus?  — 

I  had  rather  be  a  dog  and  bay  the  moon 

Than  such  a  Roman." 

*'  Go,  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.     Must  I  budge  ? 
Must  I  observe  you?     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor?     By  the  gods. 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen. 
Though  it  do  split  you !   for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I  '11  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter. 
When  you  are  waspish." 

"  I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions. 
Which  you  denied  me  :  was  that  done  like  Cassius  ? 
Should  I  have  answer'd  Caius  Cassius  so? 
When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous, 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, 
Dash  him  to  pieces ! 

Cassms.  I  denied  you  not. 

Brutus.  You  did. 

Cassius.  I  did  not :  —  he  was  but  a  fool 
That  brought  my  answer  back." — Id.,  IV.,  3. 

"  Cassius.  You  know  that  I  hold  Epicurus  strong. 
And  his  opinion  :  *  now  I  change  my  mind, 

*  "  But  Epicurus,  accommodating  and  subjecting  his  natural 
to  his  moral  philosophy  (as  appears  from  his  own  words),  would 


160  FRANCIS    BACON 

And  partly  credit  things  that  do  presage. 

Coming  from  Sardis,  on  our  former  ensign 

Two  mighty  eagles  fell ;  and  there  they  perch'd, 

Gorging  and  feeding  from  our  soldiers'  hands, 

Who  to  Philippi  have  consorted  us ; 

This  morning  are  they  fled  away  and  gone ; 

And  in  their  steads  do  ravens,  crows,  and  kites, 

Fly  o'er  our  heads,  and  downward  look  on  us, 

As  we  were  sickly  prey ;  their  shadows  seem 

A  canopy  most  fatal,  under  which 

Our  army  lies,  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost.* 

(Brutus  advancing.) 

Cassius.  Now,  most  noble  Brutus, 

The  gods  to-day  stand  friendly  ;  that  we  may. 

Lovers  in  peace,  lead  on  our  days  to  age !  " — Id.,  V.,  1. 

"  Brutus.  [^Speaking  of  Cassius^  Thou  hast  described 
A  hot  friend  cooling ;  ever  note,  Lucilius, 
When  love  begins  to  sicken  and  decay, 
It  useth  an  enfoi'ced  ceremony. 
There  are  no  tricks  in  plain  and  simple  faith : 
But  hollow  men,  like  horses  hot  at  hand. 
Make  gallant  show  and  promise  of  their  mettle : 
But  when  they  should  endure  the  bloody  spur, 
They  fall  their  crests,  and,  like  deceitful  jades, 
Sink  in  the  trial.'' — Id.,  IV.,  2. 

"  Cassius.  Casca,  be  sudden,  for  we  fear  prevention. — 
Brutus,  what  shall  be  done?     If  this  be  known, 

not  willingly  admit  any  opinion  that  depressed  or  hurt  the 
mind,  and  troubled  or  disturbed  that  Euthumia  of  his,  which 
he  had  adopted  from  Democritus.  And  so  being  more  fond  of 
enjoying  the  sweets  of  thought  than  patient  of  the  truth,  he 
fairly  threw  off  the  yoke,  and  rejected  both  the  necessity  of 
Fate  and  the  fear  of  the  gods." — De  Aucfmentis,  Second  Book. 
See  also  Works,  Vol.  3,  p.  241 ;  Vol.  5,  pp.  13,  18. 

*  "  Divination  hath  been  anciently  and  fitly  divided  into  ar- 
tificial and  natural ;  whereof  artificial  is  when  the  mind  maketh 
a  prediction  by  argument,  concluding  upon  signs  and  tokens ; 
.  .  .  such  as  were  the  heathen  observations  upon  the  inspection 
of  sacrifices,  the  flight  of  birds,  the  swarming  of  bees ;  and 
such  as  was  the  Chaldean  Astrology,  and  the  VikQ.'" —Advance- 
ment of  Leai'ning,  Second  Book. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  161 

Cassius  or  Caesar  never  shall  turn  back, 
For  I  will  slay  myself. 

Briitics.  Cassius,  be  constant : 

Papilius  Lena  speaks  not  of  our  purposes." 

—Id.,  III.,  1. 

"  Cassius.  When  Caesar  lived  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 
Brutus.  Peace,  peace  !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 
Cassius.  I  durst  not? 
Brutus.  No. 

Cassius.  What?  durst  not  tempt  him ? 
Brutus.  For  your  life  you  durst  not." — Id.,  IV.,  S. 

'  Cassius.  Pardon,  Caesar :  Caesar,  pardon  : 
As  low  as  to  thy  foot  does  Cassius  fall, 
To  beg  enfranchisement  for  Publius  Cimber." 

—Id.,  III.,  1. 
"  Cassius.  Why  now,  blow,  wind ;  swell  billow ;  and  swim,  bark! 
The  storm  is  up,  and  all  is  on  the  hazard." — Id.,  V.,  1. 

"  Cassius.  Go,  Pindarus,  get  higher  on  that  hill, 

My  sight  was  ever  thick ;  regard  Titinius, 

And  tell  me  what  thou  not'st  about  the  field. — 

This  day  I  breathed  first :   time  is  come  round, 

And  where  I  did  begin  there  shall  I  end ; 

My  life  is  run  his  compass." 
"  Cassitis.  Come  down,  behold  no  more. — 

O,  coward  that  I  am,  to  live  so  long, 

To  see  my  best  friend  ta'en  before  my  face !  " 
*'  Tit.  These  tidings  will  well  comfort  Cassius. 

Mes.  Where  did  you  leave  him? 

Tit.  All  disconsolate, 

With  Pindarus,  his  bondsman,  on  this  hill. 

Mes.  Is  not  that  he  that  lies  upon  the  ground  ? 

Tit.  No,  this  was  he,  Messala, 

But  Cassius  is  no  more." 
'■'■Mes.  Mistrust  of  good  success  hath  done  this  deed." 

—Id.,  v.,  3. 
"  Octavius.  So  I  hope  ; 

I  was  not  born  to  die  on  Brutus'  sword. 

Brutus.  0,  if  thou  wert  the  noblest  of  thy  strain. 

Young  man,  thou  couldst  not  die  more  honorable. 

Cassius.  A  peevish  school-boy,  worthless  of  such  lionor, 
11 


162  FRANCIS    BACON 

Join'd  with  a  masker  and  a  reveller. 
Antonij.   Old  Cassias  still/" — Id.,  V.,  1. 

"  A  man  that  is  busy  and  inquisitive  is  commonly  en- 
vious. For  to  know  much  of  other  men's  matters  cannot 
be  because  all  that  ado  may  concern  his  own  estate  ;  there- 
fore it  must  needs  be  that  he  taketh  a  kind  of  play-pleas- 
ure in  looking  upon  the  fortunes  of  others.  Neither  can 
he  that  mindeth  but  his  own  business  find  much  matter 
for  envy.  For  envy  is  a  gadding  passion,  and  walketh 
the  streets,  and  doth  not  keep  home :  JVow  est  curiosus^ 
quin  idem  sit  malevolus :  (There  is  no  curious  man  but 
has  some  malevolence  to  quicken  his  curiosity.)" 

"  Flavins.  Speak,  what  trade  art  thou  ? 

Mar.  Where  is  thy  leather  apron,  and  thy  rule? 

What  dost  thou  with  thy  best  apparel  on  ?  — • 

You,  sir;  what  trade  are  you?" 
"  But  what  trade  art  thou?     Answer  me  directly." 
"  What  trade  thou  knave?  thou  naughty  knave,  what  trade?  " 
"  Flavins.  Thou  art  a  cobbler,  art  thou?" 
"  But  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day  ? 

Why  dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets?" 
'■'■  Mar.  Wherefore  rejoice?     What  conquest  brings  he  home? 

What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 

To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot  wheels?  " — Id.,  /.,  1. 

"  Brutus.  The  games  are  done,  and  Csesar  is  returning. 

Cassius.  As  they  pass  by,  pluck  Casca  by  the  sleeve ; 

And  he  will,  after  his  sour  fashion,  tell  you 

What  hath  proceeded  worthy  note  to-day." 
"  Casca.  You  pulled  me  by  the  cloak :  would  you  speak  with 
me? 

Brutus.  Ay,  Casca ;  tell  us  what  hath  chanced  to-day, 

That  Caesar  looks  so  sad? 

Casca.  Why,  you  were  with  him,  were  you  not? 

Brutus.  I  should  not  then  ask  Casca  what  had  chanced. 

Casca.  Why,  there  was  a  crown  offered  him :  and  being  of- 
fered him,  he  put  it  by  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  thus ;  and 
then  the  people  fell  a  shouting. 

Brutus.  What  was  the  second  noise  for? 

Casca.  Why,  for  that  too. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  163 

Cassius.  They  shouted  thrice :  what  was  the  last  cry  for  ? 

Casca.  Why,  for  that  too. 

Brvtus.  Was  the  crown  offered  him  thrice? 

Casca.  Ay,  marry,  was  't,  and  he  put  it  by  thrice,  every  time 
gentler  than  other ;  and  at  every  putting  by,  mine  honest  neigh- 
bors shouted. 

Cassius.  Who  offered  him  the  crown? 

Casca.  Why,  Antony. 

Brutus.  Tell  us  the  manner  of  it,  gentle  Casca. 

Casca.  I  can  as  well  be  hanged  as  tell  the  manner  of  it :  it 
was  mere  foolery ;  I  did  not  mark  it  .  .  .  and  still  as  he  re- 
fused it,  the  rabblement  shouted,  and  clapped  their  chapped 
hands,  and  threw  up  their  sweaty  night-caps,  and  uttered  such 
a  deal  of  stinking  breath  because  Caesar  refused  the  crown,  that 
it  had  almost  choked  Csesar ;  for  he  swooned,  and  fell  down  at 
it ;  and  for  mine  own  part,  I  durst  not  laugh,  for  fear  of  open.^ 
ing  my  lips  and  receiving  the  bad  air.* 

Cassius.   But,  soft,  I  pray  you:  what?    Did  Csesar  swoon? 

*  "  Out  of  question,  if  such  foul  smells  be  made  by  art  and 
by  the  hand,  they  consist  chiefly  of  man's  flesh  or  sweat  putri- 
fied ;  for  they  are  not  those  stinks  which  the  nostrils  straight 
abhor  and  expel,  that  are  most  pernicious  ;  but  such  airs  as  have 
some  similitude  with  man's  body,  an  1,  so  insinuate  themselves, 
and  betray  the  spirits.  There  may  be  great  danger  in  using 
such  compositions  in  great  meetings  of  people  within  houses ; 
as  in  churches,  at  arraignments,  at  plays  and  solemnities,  and 
the  like :  for  poisoning  of  ail*  is  no  less  dangerous  than  poison- 
ing of  water,  which  hath  been  used  by  the  Turks  in  the  wars, 
and  was  used  by  Emanuel  Comneus  towards  the  Christians, 
when  they  passed  through  his  country  to  the  Holy  Land.  And 
tliese  empoisonments  of  air  are  the  more  dangerous  in  meetings 
of  people,  because  the  much  breath  of  people  doth  further  the 
reception  of  the  infection ;  and  therefore,  where  any  such  thing 
is  feared,  it  were  good  those  public  places  were  perfumed,  be- 
fore the  assemblies."  Natural  iJistorij,  §  915.  (See  Antony 
and  Cleopatra,  V.,  2.)  "  It  hath  long  been  confirmed  by  divers 
trials,  that  the  root  of  the  male  piony  dried,  tied  to  the  neck, 
doth  help  the  falliny  sickness  ;  and  likewise  the  incubus,  which 
we  call  the  mare.  The  cause  of  both  these  diseases,  and  espe- 
cially of  the  epile])sy  from  the  stomai^h,  is  iJie  yrossness  of  the 
rapors  which  rise  and  enter  into  the  cells  of  the  brain.''' — §  966. 


164  FRANCIS    BACON 

Casca.  He  fell  down  in  the  market-place,  and  foamed  at  the 
mouth,  and  was  speechless. 

Brutus.  'T  is  very  like :  he  hath  the  falling-sickness. 

Cassius.  No,  Caesar  hath  it  not ;  hut  you  and  I, 

And  honest  Casca,  we  have  the  falling  sickness." 
"  Brutus.  What  said  he  when  he  came  unto  himself  ? 

Casca.  Marry,  before  he  fell  down,  when  he  perceived  the 
common  herd  was  glad  he  refused  the  crown,  he  plucked  me 
ope  his  doublet,  and  ofPered  them  his  throat  to  cut, — .  .   . 

Brutus.  And  after  that  he  came  thus  sad  away? 

Casca.  k.Y' 

Cassius.  Did  Cicero  say  anything? 

Casca.  Ay,  he  spoke  in  Greek. 

Cassius.  To  what  effect? 

Casca.  Nay,  an  I  tell  you  that  I  '11  ne'er  look  you  i'  the  face 
again  :   .   .   .  There  was  more  foolery  yet,  if  I  could  remember  it. 

Cassius.  Will  you  sup  with  me  to-night,  Casca?" — Id.,  I.,  2. 

"  Cassius.  Who 's  there? 

Casca.  A  Roman. 

Cassms.  Casca,  by  your  voice. 

Casca.  Your  ear  is  good.     Cassius,  what  night  is  this? 

Cassius.  A  very  pleasing  night  to  honest  men. 

Casca.  Who  ever  knew  the  heavens  menace  so? 

Cassius.  Those  that  have  known  the  earth  so  full  of  faults. 

For  my  part,  I  have  walked  about  the  streets, 

Submitting  me  unto  the  perilous  night." — Id.,  I,  3. 

"  Men  of  noble  birth  are  noted  to  be  envious  towards 
new  men  when  they  rise.  For  the  distance  is  altered  ; 
and  it  is  like  a  deceit  of  the  eye,  that  when  others  come 
on  they  think  themselves  go  back.  Deformed  persons,* 
and  eunuchs,  and  old  men  and  bastards  f  are  envious." 

'^Antony.   \_Speakin(j  of  Cassius. \ 

Fear  him  not,  Caesar,  he 's  not  dangerous  ; 

He  is  a  noble  Roman,  and  well  given." — Id.,  /.,  2. 
"  Cassius.  Now  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once. 

Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed. 

That  he  is  grouni  so  great  ?     Age,  thou  art  shamed  ! 

*  See  King  Richard  III.,  I,  1. 
t  See  Edmund,  in  Kinj  Lear. 


AND    HIS    SIIAKESPEAHE,  1 G5 

Rome,  thou  liast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  suice  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  move  than  with  one  man? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walks  encompass'd  but  one  man? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man." — Id.,  /.,  2. 

"  Casains.  Those  that  with  haste  will  make  a  mighty  fire 
Begin  it  with  weak  straws :   what  trash  is  Rome, 
Wliat  rubbish,  and  what  offal,  when  it  serves 
For  the  base  matter  to  illuminate 
So  vile  a  thing  as  Caesar !" — Id.,  /.,  3. 

*'  Lastly,  near  kinsfolks,  and  fellows  in  office,  and  those 
that  have  been  hred  together,,  are  more  apt  to  envy  their 
equals  when  they  are  raised.  For  it  doth  upbraid  unto 
them  their  own  fortunes,  and  pointeth  at  them,  and  Com- 
eth oftener  into  their  remembrance,  and  incurreth  like- 
wise more  into  the  note  of  others ;  and  envy  ever  re- 
doubleth  from  speech  and  fame." 

"  Cassius.  For  once  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 
The  troubled  Tiber  chafing  with  her  shores, 
Csesar  said  to  me,  '  Dar'st  thou,  Cassius,  now 
Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 
An(l  swim  to  yonder  point  ?  ' —  Upon  the  word, 
Accoutred  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in, 
And  bade  him  follow :  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roar'd ;  and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lusty  sinews  ;  throwing  it  aside. 
And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 
But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 
Csesar  cried,  '  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink.' 
I,  as  ^neas,  our  great  ancestor, 
Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 
The  old  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 
Did  I  the  tired  Caesar :   and  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  god;   and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 
He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And,  when  the  fit  was  on  hlin,  I  »lid  mark 


1G6  FRANCIS    P.ACON 

How  lie  did  shako  :  't  is  true,  this  god  did  shake : 
His  coward  lips  did  from  theii-  color  fly  ; 
And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world, 
Did  lose  his  lustre  :   I  did  hear  him  groan  : 
Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his  that  bade  the  Romans 
Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books,* 
'  Alas  ! '  it  cried,  '  give  me  some  drink,  Titinins,' 
As  a  sick  girl.     Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  ?i  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 
And  bear  the  palm  alone.'" — Id.,  7.,  2. 

"Concerning  those  that  are  more  or  less  subject  to 
envy :  First,  persons  of  eminent  virtue,  when  they  are 
advanced,  are  less  envied.  For  their  fortune  seemeth  but 
due  unto  them ;  and  no  man  envieth  the  payment  of  a 
debt,  but  rewards  and  lihercdity  rather.  Again,  envy  /.s' 
ever  joined  tmth  the  comparing  of  a  mans  self;  and  where 
tliere  is  no  comparison,  no  envy ;  and  therefore  kings  are 
not  envied  but  by  kings." 

"  Persons  of  noble  blood  are  less  envied  in  their  rising. 
For  it  seemeth  but  due  to  their  birth.  Besides,  there 
seemeth  not  imich  added  to  their  foi'tune;  and  envy  is  as 
the  sunbeams,  that  beat  hotter  upon  a  bank  or  stee^)  ris- 
i/if/  ground,  than  upon  a  flat.  And  for  the  same  reason 
those  that  are  advanced  by  degrees  are  less  envied  tliau 
those  that  are  advanced  suddenly  and^?e>"  saltum.^^ 

(See  ante,  "new  honors  that  are  heap'd  on  Csesar.") 
"  Cassius.  I  cannot  tell  what  you  and  other  men 

Think  of  this  life ;  but  for  my  single  self, 

I  had  as  lief  not  be  as  live  to  be 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 

/  was  horn  free  as  Cresar ;  so  were  you  : 

We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 

*  "  They  that  desire  to  excel  in  too  many  matters,  out  of  levity 
and  vain  glory,  are  ever  envious.  For  they  cannot  want  work  ; 
it  being  impossible  but  many  in  some  one  of  those  things  should 
surpass  them.  Which  was  the  character  of  Adrian  the  P]ni- 
l)eror ;  that  mortally  envied  poets  and  painters  and  artificers, 
in  works  wherein  he  had  a  vein  to  excel." — Id. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  167 

Emlure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he  :  " 
"  Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world,* 

Like  a  Colossus ;    and  we  petty  men 

Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 

To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 

Men  at  sometime  are  masters  of  their  fates : 

The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 

But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  uyiderlings. 
'  Brutus,'  and  '  Caesar  ':  what  should  be  in  that  <  Caesar '  ? 

Why  should  that  name  he  sounded  more  than  your.s? 

Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name; 

Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 

Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy ;  conjure  with  them, 
'  Brutus '  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  '  Caesar.'  " 

—Id.,  /.,  2. 
"  Cassius.  Now  could  I,  Casca,  name  to  thee  a  man 

Most  like  this  dreadful  night ; 

That  thunders,  lightens,  opens  graves,  and  roars 

As  doth  the  lion  in  the  Capitol ; 

A  man  no  mightier  than  thyself,  or  me, 

In  personal  action ;  yet  prodigious  grown 

And  fearful,  as  these  strange  eruptions  are." — Id.,  I.,  3. 

"  Above  all,  those  are  most  subject  to  envy,  which  carry 
the  greatness  of  their  fortunes  in  an  insolent  and  proud 
manner;  being  never  well  but  while  they  are  shewing 
how  great  they  are,  either  by  outward  pomp,  or  by  tri- 
umphing over  all  opposition  or  competition." 

"  Coisar.  I  rather  tell  thee  what  is  to  be  feared 

Than  what  I  fear,  for  always  I  am  Caesar." — Id.,  I,  2. 
"  Ca'sar.  Caesar  shall  forth :  the  things  that  threatened  me 

Ne'er  looked  but  on  my  back ;  when  they  shall  see 

The  face  of  Caesar,  they  are  vanquished." 
"  Ccesar.  Danger  knows  full  well 

That  Caesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he. 

We  are  two  lions  litter'd  in  one  day. 

And  I  the  elder  and  more  terrible ; 

And  Caesar  shall  forth." 
"  Ccesar.  Shall  Caesar  send  a  lie? 

*  ''  For  this  giant  bestrideth  the  sea  ;  and  I  would  take  him 
by  the  foot  on  this  side." — Charge  Touching  Duels. 


168  FKANCTS    BACON 

Have  I  in  conquest  stretch'd  mine  arm  so  far. 
To  be  afraid  to  tell  greybeards  the  truth  ? 
Decius,  go  tell  them  C?esar  will  not  come." 

•'  The  cause  is  in  my  will,  I  will  not  come ; 
That  is  enough  to  satisfy  the  senate." — Id.,  II.,  2. 

"  CcBsar.  I  must  prevent  thee,  Ciinber, 

These  couchings,  and  these  lowly  courtesies, 
Might  fire  the  blood  of  ordinary  men, 
And  turn  xiTe-ordiname,  and  first  decree* 
Into  the  law  of  children.      Be  not  fond, 
To  think  that  Csesar  bears  such  rebel  blood, 
That  will  be  thawed  from  the  true  quality 
With  that  which  melteth  fools ;  I  mean  sweet  words, 
Low  crooked  curtsies,  and  base  spaniel-fawning. 
Thy  brother  by  decree  is  banished ; 


*  "  1  believe  .  .  .  that  out  of  his  eternal  and  infinite  good- 
ness and  love,  purposing  to  become  a  Creator,  and  to  commun- 
icate with  his  creatures,  he  ordained  in  his  eternal  counsel,  that 
one  person  of  the  Godhead  should  in  time  be  united  to  one 
nature  and  to  one  particular  of  his  creatures :  that  so  in  the 
person  of  the  Mediator  the  true  ladder  might  be  fixed,  whereby 
God  might  descend  to  his  creatures,  and  his  creatures  ascend 
to  God." — Confession  of  Faith. 

"As  surely  as  my  soul  intends  to  live 
With  that  dread  King,  that  took  our  state  upon  him. 
To  free  us  from  his  Father's  wrathful  curse." 

— //.,  ffe7ir2j  VI..  Ill,  2. 
"  I  charge  you,  as  you  hope  to  have  redemption 
By  Christ's  dear  blood,  shed  for  our  grievous  sins." 

— Richard  III,  L,  4. 
(Of  this  confession  Spedding  says:  "To  criticise  the  the- 
ology  of  it  would  be  beyond  my  province.  But  if  anyone  wishes 
to  read  a  snmma  theologice  digested  into  seven  pages  of  the  fin- 
est English  of  the  days  when  its  tones  were  finest,  he  may  read 
it  here.") 

" — suffering  him  to  foreknow  some  things  as  an  unconcerned 
looker  on,  which  he  does  not  predestine  and  preordain  ;  a  no- 
tion not  unlike  the  figment  which  Epicurus  introduced  into  the 
philosophy  of  Democritus,  to  get  rid  of  fate  and  make  room  for 
fortune." — Meditation.,  Of  Heresies. 


AND    niR    SHAKESPEARE.  169 

If  thou  dost  bend,  and  pray,  and  fawn,  for  him, 

I  spuin  thee  like  a  cur,  out  of  my  way. 

Know,  Csesar  doth  not  wrong :  nor  without  cause 

Will  he  be  satisfied. " 
"  Ccesar.  I  could  well  be  moved  if  I  were  as  you ; 

If  I  could  pray  to  move,  prayers  would  move  me ; 

But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star, 

Of  whose  true-fix'd  and  resting  quality 

There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 

The  skies  are  painted  with  unnumbered  sparks, 

They  are  all  fire,*  and  every  one  doth  shine ; 

But  there's  but  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  place : 

So,  in  the  world :   't  is  furnish'd  well  with  men, 

And  men  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  apprehensive ; 

Yet,  in  the  number,  I  do  know  but  one, 

That  unassailable  holds  on  his  rank, 

Unshaked  of  motion :  and,  that  I  am  he, 

Let  me  a  little  show  it, —  even  in  this, 

That  I  was  constant  Cimber  should  be  banish'd 

And  constant  do  remain  to  keep  him  so." — Id.,  III.,  1. 
"  Lastly  to  conclude  this  part ;  as  we  said  in  the  be- 
ginning that  the  act  of  envy  had  somewhat  in  it  of  witch- 
craft, so,  there  is  no  other  cure  of  envy  but  the  cure  of 
witchcraft ;  and  that  is,  to  remove  the  '  lot '  (as  they  call 
it)  and  to  lay  it  upon  another.  For  which  purpose,  the 
wiser  sort  of  great  persons  bring  in  ever  u^ion  the  stage 

*"  Another  question  is,  are  the  stars  true  fires?  a  question 
however  which  requires  some  care  to  understand  it  rightly.  For 
it  is  one  thing  to  say  that  the  stars  are  true  fires ;  and  another 
thing  to  say  that  the  stars  (admitting  them  to  be  true  fires) 
exert  all  the  powers  and  produce  the  same  effects  which  com- 
mon fire  does.  For  the  fire  of  the  stars  is  pure,  perfect,  and 
native  ;  whereas  our  fire  is  degenerate,  like  Vulcan  thrown  from 
heaven  and  halting  with  the  fall.  For  if  a  man  observe  it,  fire 
as  we  have  it  here  is  out  of  its  place,  trembling,  surrounded  by 
contraries,  needy,  depending  for  sustenance  upon  fuel  and  fugi- 
tive. Whereas  in  heaven  fire  exists  in  its  true  place,  removed 
from  the  assault  of  any  contrary  body,  constant,  sustained  by 
itself,  and  things  like  itself,  and  performing  its  proper  opera- 
tions freely  and  without  molestation." — Description  of  the  In- 
teliectual  Globe. 


170  FRANCIS    BACON 

somebody  upon  whom  to  derive  the  envy  that  would  come 
upon  themselves  ;  sometimes  upon  ministers  and  servants  ; 
sometimes  upon  cnUeagiies  and  (fst<ocl<(tes ;  and  the  like; 
and  for  that  turn  there  are  never  wanting  some  persons 
of  violent  and  undertaking  natures,  who,  so  they  may 
have  power  and  business,  will  take  it  at  any  cost." 

"  (Exit  Lejndus.) 
Antony.  This  is  a  slight  unmevitahle  man, 
Meet  to  be  sent  on  errands :   is  it  fit, 
Tlie  three-fold  world  divided,  he  should  stand 
One  of  the  three  to  share  it? 

Octavius.  So  you  thought  him  ; 

And  took  his  voice,  who  should  be  i)rick'd  to  die. 
In  our  black  sentence  and  proscription.* 
Antony.  Octavius,  I  have  seen  more  days  than  you : 
And  though  we  lay  these  honors  on  this  man, 
To  ease  onrselues  of  divers  slanderous  loads, 
He  shall  but  bear  them  as  the  ass  bears  gold, 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  the  business, 
Either  led  or  driven,  as  we  point  the  way ; 
And  having  brought  our  treasure  where  we  will, 
Then  take  we  down  his  load,  and  turn  him  off, 
Like  to  the  empty  ass,  to  shake  his  ears, 
And  graze  in  commons. 

Octavius.  You  may  do  your  will ; 

But  he  's  a  tried  and  valiant  soldier." — Id.,  IV.,  1. 

"  We  will  add  this  in  general,  touching  the  affection  of 
envy ;  that  of  all  other  affections  it  is  the  most  importune 
and  continual.  For  of  other  affections  there  is  occasion 
given  but  now  and  then ;  and  therefore  it  was  well  said, 
Invidia  festos  dies  non  agit :  (Envy  keeps  no  holidays :) 
for  it  is  ever  working  upon  some  other.  And  it  is  also  noted 
that  love  and  envy  do  make  a  man  jn/ie,  which  other  af- 
fections do  not,  because  they  are  not  so  continual." 

*  "  For  nothing  increaseth  envy  more  than  an  unnecessary 
and  ambitious  engrossing  of  business.  And  nothing  doth  ex- 
tinguish envy  more  than  for  a  great  person  to  preserve  all  other 
inferior  officers  in  their  full  rights  and  pre-eminences  of  their 
places.  For  by  that  means  there  be  so  many  screens  between 
him  and  envy." — Id. 


AM)    HIS    SIIAKKSl'EAHE.  171 

"  Ccpsar.  Let  me  have  men  about  me  that  are  fat  ; 
Sleek-headed  men,  and  such  as  sleep  o'  nights : 
Yond'  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look ; 
He  thinks  too  nmch :  such  men  are  dangerous. 
Would  he  were  fatter  ;  —  but  I  fear  him  not : 
Yet  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 
I  do  not  know  the  man  I  should  avoid 
So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius.     He  reads  much ; 
He  is  a  great  observer,  and  he  looks 
Quite  through  the  deeds  of  men :  he  loves  no  plays, 
As  thou  dost,  Antony  :  he  hears  no  music  : 
Seldom  he  smiles;   and  smiles  in  such  a  sort 
As  if  he  mock'd  himself,  and  scorn'd  his  spirit 
That  could  be  moved  to  smile  at  anything. 
Such  meti  as  he  he  never  at  heart's  ease 
Whiles  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselves ; 
And  therefore  are  they  very  dangerous." — Id.,  I.,  S. 

"It  is  also  the  vilest  affection,  and  the  most  depraved  ; 
for  which  cause  it  is  the  proper  attribute  of  the  devil,  who 
is  called  '  The  envious  man,  that  soweth  tares  among  the 
wheat  by  night ; '  as  it  always  cometh  to  pass,  that  envy 
worketh  suhtiUy^  and  in  the  dark;  and  to  the  prejudice 
of  good  things,  such  as  is  the  wheat." 

"  Cassius.  Brutus,  I  do  observe  you  now  of  late 
I  have  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness. 
And  show  of  love,  as  I  was  wont  to  have : 
You  bear  too  stubborn  and  too  strange  a  hand 
Over  your  friend  that  loves  you." 

"  Cassius.  Then,  Brutus,  I  have  mistook  your  passion  ; 
By  means  whereof  this  breast  of  mine  hath  buried 
Thoughts  of  great  value,  worthy  cogitations. 
Tell  me,  good  Brutus,  can  you  see  your  face? 
Brutus.  No,  Cassius :  for  the  eye  sees  not  itself, 
But  by  reflection,  by  some  other  things. 
Cassius.  'Tis  just: 

And  it  is  very  much  lamented,  Brutus, 
That  you  have  no  such  mii'rors  as  will  turn 
Your  hidden  worthiness  into  your  eye. 
That  you  might  see  your  shadow.     I  have  heard, 
That  many  of  the  best  respect  in  Rome, 
(Except  immortal  C»sar),  speaking  of  Brutus, 


172  FRANCIS    BACON 

And  groaning  underneath  this  age's  yoke, 

Have  wish'd  that  noble  Brutus  had  his  eyes. 

Brutus.  Into  what  dangers  would  you  lead  me,  Cassias, 

That  you  would  have  me  seek  into  myself 

For  that  which  is  not  in  me? 

Cassins.  Therefore,  good  Brutus,  be  prepared  to  hear: 

And,  since  you  know  you  cannot  see  yourself 

So  well  as  by  reflection,  T,  your  glass, 

Will  modestly  discover  to  yourself 

That  of  yourself  which  you  yet  know  not  of."  * 
^^ Brutus.  But  wherefore  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long? 

What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me? 

It  it  be  aught  toward  the  general  good. 

Set  honor  in  one  eye,  and  death  i'  the  other, 

And  I  will  look  on  both  indifferently : 

For,  let  the  gods  so  speed  me  as  I  love 

The  name  of  honor  more  than  I  fear  death. 

Cassms.  I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  Brutus, 

As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favor. 

Well,  honor  is  the  subject  of  my  story, — " 
^^ Brutus.  That  you  do  love  me,  I  am  nothing  jealous; 

What  you  would  ivorJc  me  to,  I  have  some  aim ; 

How  I  have  thought  of  this,  and  of  these  times, 

I  shall  recount  hereafter ;   for  this  present, 

I  would  not,  so  with  love  I  might  entreat  you, 

Be  any  further  moved.     What  you  have  said, 

I  will  consider;    what  you  have  to  say, 

I  will  with  patience  hear :   and  find  a  time 

Both  meet  to  hear  and  answer  such  high  things. 

Till  then,  my  noble  friend,  chew  upon  this ; 

Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager. 

Than  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome 

Under  these  hard  conditions,  as  this  time 

Is  like  to  lay  upon  us. 

Cassius.  I  am  glad  that  my  weak  words 

*  "  For  who  can  by  often  looking  in  the  glass  discern  and 
judge  so  well  of  his  own  favor,  as  another  with  whom  he  con- 
verseth  ?  " — Letter  to  Essex. 

"Yet  nevertheless,  I  believe  well  that  this  your  Lordship's 
absence  will  rather  be  a  glass  unto  you  to  shew  you  many  things 
whereof  you  may  make  use  hereafter." — Letter  to  Buckingham. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  173 

Have  struck  but  thus  much  show  of  fii*e  from  Brutus." 
'■'^ Brutus.  For  this  time  I  will  leave  you: 
To-morrow,  if  you  please  to  speak  with  me, 
I  will  come  home  to  you ;   or,  if  you  will, 
Come  home  to  me,  and  I  will  wait  for  you. 
Cassms.  I  will  do  so ;  —  till  then,  think  of  the  world. 

[Exit  Brutus. 
Well,  Brutus,  thou  art  noble ;  yet  I  see 
Thy  honorable  metal  inay  be  wrought 
From  that  it  is  disposed:  therefore  it  is  meet 
That  noble  minds  keep  ever  with  their  likes  : 
For  who  so  firm  that  cannot  be  seduced? 
Csesar  doth  bear  me  hard  ?  but  he  loves  Brutus : 
If  I  were  Brutus  now,  and  he  were  Cassius, 
He  should  not  humor  me.*     I  will  this  night, 
In  several  hands,  in  at  his  window  throw. 
As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens, 
Writings,  all  tending  to  the  great  oinnio^i 
That  Rome  holds  of  his  name ;  wherein  obscurely 
Ccesar's  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at ; 
And,  after  this,  let  Caesar  seat  him  sure ; 
For  we  wUl  shake  him,  or  worse  days  endure." 

-Id.,  /.,  2. 

("  But  certain  it  is,  whether  it  be  believed  or  no,  that 
as  the  most  excellent  of  7netals,  gold,  is  of  all  other  the 
most  pliant  and  most  enduring  to  be  wro'ught ;  so  of  all 
living  and  breathing  substances,  the  perfectest  (Man)  is 
the  most  susceptible  of  help,  improvement,  impression, 
and  alteration.  .  .  .  And  as  to  the  will  of  man,  it  is  that 
which  is  most  rnaniable  and  obedient ;  as  that  which  ad- 
mitteth  most  medicines  to  cure  and  alter  it.  The  most 
sovereign  of  all  is  Religion,  which  is  able  to  change  and 
transform  it  in  the  deepest  and  most  inward  inclinations 
and  motions.  And  next  to  that  is  Opinion  and  Aj)pre- 
hensio/t;  whether  it  be  infused  by  tradition  and  institu- 
tion, or  wrought  in  by  disputation  and  persuasion.     And 

*"The  meaning  seems  to  be.  If  I  were  in  his  position  (a 
favorite  with  Caesar),  and  he  in  mine  (disliked  by  Caesar),  he 
should  not  cajole,  or  turn  and  wind  me,  as  I  now  do  him."  — 
Craik's  The  English  of  Shakespeare,  Rolfe's  edition. 


174  FRANCIS    BACON 

the  third  is  Exami^h,  which  trausformeth  the  will  of  man 
into  the  similitude  of  that  which  is  much  observant  and 
familiar  towards  it.  And  the  fourth  is,  when  one  affec- 
tion is  healed  and  corrected  by  another ;  as  when  cow- 
ardice is  remedied  by  shame  and  dishonor,  or  sluggishness 
and  backwardness  by  indignation  and  emulation  ;  and  so 
of  the  like.  And  lastly,  when  all  these  means,  or  any  of 
them,  have  neio  framed  or  formed  human  will,  then  doth 
custom  and  habit  corroborate  and  confirm  all  the  rest." 
— Helps  for  the  Intellectual  Powers.)  * 

"  Casca.  It  is  the  part  of  men  to  fear  and  tremble 
When  the  most  mighty  gods,  by  tokens,  send 
Such  dreadful  herakls  to  astonish  us. 
'■'■  Cassius.  You  are  chdl,  Casca;  and  those  sjjarks  of  life 
That  should  be  in  a  Roman  you  do  want, 
Or  else  you  use  not.     You  look  pale  and  gaze, 
And  put  on  fear,  and  cast  yourself  in  wonder, 
To  see  the  strange  imjjatience  of  the  heavens: 
But  if  you  would  consider  the  true  cause 
Why  all  these  fires,  why  all  these  gliding  ghosts, 
Why  birds  and  beasts,  from  quality  and  kind ; 
Why  old  men,  fools,  and  children  calculate; 
Why  all  these  things  change  from  their  ordinance, 
Their  natures,  and  pre-formed  faculties, 
To  monstrous  quality  ;  —  why  you  shall  find, 
That  heaven  hath  infused  them  with  these  s^jvrits, 
To  make  them  instruments  of  fear  and  ivarning 
Unto  some  monstrous  state.  .  .  . 

Casca.  'Tis  Cassar  that  you  mean;  is  it  not,  Cassius?" 
"  Cassius.  Bat,  O,  <jrlcf! 

Where  hast  thou  led  me?     I,  perhaps,  speak  this 
Before  a  willing  bondman :  then  I  know 
My  answer  must  be  made :  but  I  am  arm'd, 
And  dangers  are  to  me  indifferent. 

*  "  And  as  in  negotiation  with  others,  men  are  wrought  hg 
cunning,  hg  importnn'itg,  and  hg  vehemencg ;  so  in  this  negotia- 
tion within  ourselves  men  are  undermined  by  Inconsequences, 
solicited  and  importuned  by  Impressions  or  Observations,  and 
transported  by  Passion." — Advancement  of  Learning,  Second 
Book. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  175 

Casca.  Yoa  speak  to  Casca ;  and  to  such  man 
There  is  no  fleering  tell-tale.     Hold  my  hand : 
Be  factious  for  redress  of  all  these  griefs : 
And  I  will  set  this  foot  of  mine  as  far 
As  who  goes  farthest. 

Cassiiis.  There  's  a  bargain  made. 

Now  know  you,  Casca,  /  have  moved  alreadij 

Some  certain  of  the  noblest-minded  Romans, 

To  undergo  with  me  an  enterprise 

Of  honorable-dangerous  consequence , 

And  I  do  know  by  this  they  stay  for  me 

In  Pompey's  porch:   for  now,  this  fearful  ni'jhtj 

There  is  no  stir  or  walking  in  the  streets ; 

And  the  complexion  of  the  element 

Has  favors,  like  the  work  we  have  in  hand, 

Most  bloody,  fiery,  and  most  terrible." 

"  Cinna.  O,  Cassius,  if  you  could 

But  win  the  noble  Brutus  to  our  party  — 
Cassius.  Be  you  content.     Good  Cinna,  take  this  paper, 
And,  look  you,  lay  it  in  the  praetor's  chair, 
Where  Brutus  may  but  find  it ;   and  throw  this 
In  at  his  window :   set  this  up  with  wax 
Upon  old  Brutus'  statue ;  all  this  done, 
Repair  to  Pompey's  porch,  where  you  shall  find  us. 
Is  Decius  Brutus,  and  Trebonius  there? 
Cinna.  All,  but  Metellus  Clmber  ;  and  he  's  gone 
To  seek  you  at  your  house.     Well,  I  will  hie, 
And  so  bestow  these  papers  as  you  bade  me. 
Cassius.  That  done,  repair  to  Pompey's  theatre. 
Come,  Casca,  you  and  I  will  yet,  ere  day, 
See  Brutus  at  his  house  :  three  parts  of  him 
Is  ours  already ;  and  the  man  entire. 
Upon  the  next  encounter,  yields  him  ours. 
Casca.  O,  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people's  hearts : 
And  all  that  which  would  appear  offence  in  us, 
His  countenance,  like  richest  alchemy. 
Will  change  to  vii'tue  and  to  worthiness. 
Cassius.  Him,  and  his  worth,  and  our  great  need  of  him, 
You  have  right  well  conceited.     Let  us  go, 
For  it  is  after  7iiidni<jht;  and  ere  day 
We  will  awake  him,  and  be  sure  of  him." — Id.,  I-,  S. 


176  FKANCIS    BACON 

This  concludes  the  Essay :  and  the  play  closes  with  an 
unmistakable  declaration  of  the  dominant  motive  in  the 
action,  in  Antony's  luminous  words  over  Brutus'  body : 

"  This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all : 
All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he, 
Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Csesar ; 
He  only,  in  a  genei'al  honest  thought, 
And  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them." 


Our  patient  study  of  this  Primer  of  the  play  has  indeed 
brought  us  a  rich  reward.  In  effect,  this  Master  Archi- 
tect has  here  opened  to  us  his  studio  ;  permitting  us  to 
enter  and  inspect  his  original  plans  and  specifications,  and 
to  trace  their  fulfilment  in  the  finished  structure.  We  are 
thus  enabled  to  comprehend,  perhaps  as  never  before,  the 
bearing  and  peculiar  significance  of  this  detail,  and  that, 
and  the  other,  "  the  reason  for  their  existence,"  and  their 
essential  relation  to  the  whole,  as  directly  contributory  to 
the  development  of  the  theme. 

We  have  grasped  the  underlying  thought  of  the  Poet ; 
and  manifestly,  the  key  to  the  mysteries  of  the  play  is  now 
in  our  possession  :  and  henceforward,  our  delightful  study 
of  its  intricacies  will  be  prosecuted  from  within,  rather 
than  from  without  its  portals. 

But  while  all  is  now  so  clear,  we  are  confronted  by  the 
astonishing  fact,  readily  verified,  that  the  critics  generally, 
wanting  the  key,  have  utterly  failed  to  comprehend  the 
true  import  of  this  play  ;  discerning  neither  its  dominant 
motive,  nor  the  principles  underlying  the  development  of 
its  action.*  The  eminent  German  critic.  A,  W.  Schlegel, 
a  recognized  authority  in  Dramatic  Literature,  whose  ap- 

*  With  the  possible  exception  of  Gervinus,  the  one  great  com- 
mentator upon  the  plays,  who  exhibits  a  thorough  mastery  of 
Bacon's  prose,  and  in  accordance,  has  shown  the  deepest  insight 
into  the  Shakespeare. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  177 

preciative  criticism  did  so  much  to  awaken  the  admira- 
tion and  love  of  the  German  people  for  the  plays,  is  a  good 
example.  In  his  Lectures  on  Dramatic  Art  and  Liter- 
ature^ he  speaks  thus  intelligently  : 

"  It  was,  generally  speaking,  the  prevailing  tendency  of 
the  time  which  preceded  our  own  (and  which  has  showed 
itself  particularly  in  physical  science),  to  consider  every- 
thing having  life  as  a  mere  accumulation  of  dead  parts,  to 
separate  what  exists  only  in  connection  and  cannot  other- 
wise be  conceived,  instead  of  penetrating  to  the  central 
point  and  viewing  all  the  parts  as  so  many  irradiations  from 
it.  Hence  nothing  is  so  rare  as  a  critic  who  can  elevate 
himself  to  the  comprehensive  contemplation  of  a  work  of 
art.  Shakespeare's  compositions,  from  the  very  depth  of 
purpose  displayed  in  them,  have  been  especially  liable  to 
the  misfortune  of  being  misunderstood." 

And  yet,  in  his  discussion  of  Julius  Ccesar,  in  the  same 
work,  he  does  not  mention  envy,  nor  even  hint  at  the  pos- 
sibility of  its  influence  on  Cassius ;  v/hom  he  eulogizes  as 
follows : 

"  After  the  overthrow  of  the  external  splendor  and  great- 
ness of  the  conqueror  and  ruler  of  the  world,  the  intrinsic 
g^'andeur  of  character  of  Brutus  and  Cassius  is  all  that  re- 
mains to  fill  the  stage  and  occupy  the  minds  of  the  specta- 
tors :  suitably  to  their  name,  as  the  last  of  the  Romans, 
they  stand  there,  in  some  degree  alone  ;  and  the  forming 
of  a  great  and  hazardous  determination  is  more  powerfully 
calculated  to  excite  our  expectation,  than  the  supporting 
the  consequences  of  the  deed  with  heroic  firmness." 

And  regarding  the  significance  of  the  display  of  Csesar's 
arrogance,  he  says : 

"  In  the  part  of  Caesar  several  ostentatious  speeches 
have  been  censured  as  unsuitable.  But  as  he  never  appears 
in  action,  we  have  no  other  measure  of  his  greatness  than 
the  impression  which  he  makes  upon  the  rest  of  the  char- 
acters, and  his  peculiar  confidence  in  himself." 

Another  and  more  recent  example  is  equally  illustrative. 

12 


178  FRANCIS    BACON 

The  world  is  to-day  graced  by  tlio  presence  of  an  artist 
who  confessedly  stands  foremost  in  his  profession ;  a  po- 
sition won  by  arduous  labor,  diligent  cultivation  of  his 
talents,  and  a  conscientious  devotion  to  his  work.  Henry 
Irving  is  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  plays,  giving  to  their 
interpretation  the  closest  study :  and  yet,  in  his  recent  edi- 
tion of  the  Shakespeare — a  model  of  elegance,  culture,  and 
s(!holarship — in  the  analysis  of  f/ulhis  Ccesar,  written  by 
Messrs.  Adams  and  Marshall,  accomplished  Shakespear- 
ean critics,  no  mention  whatever  is  made  of  envy,  nor  any 
suggestion  of  its  bearing  upon  the  action.  The  signifi- 
cance of  Csesar's  demeanor  also  remains  a  mystery.  A 
single  brief  quotation  must  suffice : 

"  The  treatment  of  the  living  Caesar  by  the  poet,  how- 
ever, has  been  a  puzzle  to  many  of  the  critics.  ...  If 
he  is  to  impress  us  as  verily  '  great  Csesar,'  it  must  be  by 
what  he  says,  not  by  what  he  does,  and  by  what  he  says 
when  there  is  no  occasion  for  grand  or  heroic  utterance. 
Under  the  circumstances,  a  little  boasting  and  bravado  ap- 
pears to  be  necessary  to  his  being  recognized  as  the  Roman 
Dictator." 

But  who  of  us  can  throw  any  stones  at  these  "glass 
houses  "  ?  Were  we  not  also  upon  the  outside,  until  we 
gained  entrance  through  Bacon's  gate  of  horn;  follow- 
ing the  pathway  he  so  kindly  blazoned  for  us  ? 

The  explanation  is  not  far  to  seek.  Life's  problem  is 
a  far  greater  puzzle,  with  its  thousand  intricacies  of  in- 
terfering motives,  passions  and  affections.  And  we  begin 
to  realize  that  this  master  of  the  human  heart,  alone,  in 
all  the  world,  had  resolved  the  particular  enigma  of  envy ; 
unravelling  its  strand  from  the  tangled  skein,  and  becom- 
ing familiar  with  its  characteristics,  its  color,  its  peculiar 
texture,  and  its  wonted  combinations  and  ramifications. 
With  this  strand  thus  in  hand,  he  was  enabled  to  inter- 
weave it  in  a  new  fabric  of  his  own  creation  ;  and  in  such 


AND    niS    SHAKESPEARE.  179 

perfect  similitude  to  life's  pattern,  that,  for  three  centu- 
ries, its  really  simple  intricacies  have  been  equally  puz- 
zling to  the  world.  It  was  only  because  he  had  solved  the 
greater  problem,  that  he  was  enabled  to  puzzle  us  with 
the  lesser. 

And  how  wonderfully  has  he  cleared  up  for  us  some- 
what of  the  mystery  of  Art !  showing  us,  by  his  methods, 
its  legitimate  domain,  its  limitations,  and  its  essential  prin- 
ciples !  In  brief,  he  takes  out  of  the  universe  a  real  thing, 
in  this  case,  one  of  man's  "  affections,"  and  embodies  it  in 
a  creation  of  his  own ;  an  organism,  in  which  this  entity 
is  given  growth,  development,  and  expansion,  according 
to  the  laws  of  its  nature. 

His  work,  in  an  important  sense,  is  a  revelation.  It  is 
not  a  photograph  of  nature.  The  thousand  and  one  ex- 
traneous matters,  that  would  fill  such  a  picture,  are 
dropped  out  of  sight,  and  only  those  are  utilized  which 
contribute  towards  the  designed  development.  All  the 
elements  are  true  to  life,  because  they  are  drawn  directly 
from  it ;  but  over  and  beyond  this,  they  are  each  given 
that  specific  form,  that  peculiar  cast,  which  will  contribute 
its  essential  shade  of  expression  to  the  thing  represented, 
—  in  what  Taine  calls  the  whole  of  Art :  "  concentration 
of  manifestation." 

The  thing  given  representation  is  a  fragment  of  na- 
ture's kingdom ;  reembodied  in  the  similitude  of  its  origi- 
nal connections ;  put  under  a  magnifying  glass,  if  you 
please,  that  we  may  the  more  clearly  discern  its  essential 
characteristics ;  just  as  the  microscopist  puts  the  wing  of 
a  fly  under  a  lens,  whose  exaggerations  disclose  the  real- 
ity, and  delight  him  with  a  more  comprehensive  vision  of 
its  inherent  glories. 

And  in  its  further  development,  in  the  delightful  exer- 
cise of  this  wonderful  creative  power,  new  combinations 
are  formed  out  of  these  original  elements  ;  exhibiting  more 


180  FRANCIS    BACON 

distinctly  their  mutual  relations,  their  characteristic  ac- 
tions and  reactions,  and  their  bearing  upon  the  evolution 
of  the  whole ;  even  as  the  new  combinations  of  the  pri- 
mary elements  made  by  the  chemist  in  his  laboratory  re- 
veal to  him,  by  their  "  conduct,"  the  forces  at  work  in  na- 
ture and  their  mode  of  operation.  And  especially,  in  this 
development,  is  the  operation  of  these  forces  quickened 
and  intensified,  in  the  more  effective  revelation  of  their 
existence  and  potency ;  that  we  may  be  impressed  with 
their  reality,  and  ofttimes  delighted  by  the  recognition  of 
their  action. 

The  whole  is  indeed  a  new  creation,  complete  in  itself, 
and  instinct  with  a  beauty  drawn  directly  from  nature's 
fount.  And  throughout,  what  we  call  "  the  ideal,"  he 
finds  in  and  develops  out  of  the  real. 

"  Great  no  doubt  is  the  magnificence  of  the  ivory  gate, 
but  the  true  dreams  pass  through  the  gate  of  horn." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  181 


CHAPTER   V. 

We  are  now  enabled  also  to  appreciate  more  adequately 
the  Dramatic  Art  of  the  play.  It  is  truly  a  masterpiece ; 
one  in  which  the  dominant  motive  is  given  complete  ex- 
pression, in  all  its  phases.  Its  development  commences 
amid  the  circumstances  which  naturally  contribute  to  its 
evolution  ;  and  with  ever-increasing  interest,  it  is  contin- 
ued through  the  specific  manifestations  marking  its  pro- 
gress, until  it  comes  to  a  culmination  in  the  thrilling  scenes 
of  the  central  climax.  Here,  immediately,  its  fulfilling 
counter-motive  is  brought  into  prominence  and  is  devel- 
oped through  its  inevitable  course,  "  to  a  full  and  natural 
close ";  the  whole  forming  the  unity  of  a  completely 
rounded,  well  -  finished  structure  ;  embellished  here  and 
there  with  subtle  touches  of  exquisite  beauty. 

The  opening  notes  sound  a  prelude  appropriate  to  the 
theme.  The  exultant  tones  of  celebration  are  the  first 
chord  that  strikes  the  ear:  "We  make  holiday ,  to  see  Caisar, 
and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumph,"  are  the  words  of  the  citi- 
zens, who  appear  upon  the  scene  in  holiday  attire.  Their 
very  jokes  give  a  more  vivid  coloring  ;  indicating  that  the 
jubilation  is  so  great  that  laboring  men,  dependent  upon 
their  earnings,  are  idling  in  the  streets.  It  is  manifestly 
just  the  occasion  when  envy  is  especially  set  on  edge. 

The  effect  is  further  intensified  by  the  exhibition  of  the 
malevolence  engendered  in  the  hearts  of  the  old-time  ad- 
herents of  Pompey.  In  their  newly-fired  hatred,  they  dis- 
perse the  crowd,  and  maliciously  tear  down  the  trojjhies 
with  which  Caisar's  images  are  decked.     lor  this  they 


182  FRANCIS    BACON 

were  afterwards  put  to  death,  which  is  reported  to  Cassius  ; 
who,  be  it  noted,  had  also  been  an  adherent  of  Pompey, 
in  command  of  his  fleet,  but  had  surrendered  to  Caesar, 
who  had  forgiven  his  enmity  and  advanced  him  to  honors. 
Though  with  consummate  art,  this  significant  fact  is  hid- 
den from  view,  or  thus  merely  shadowed  forth,  since  envy, 
and  not  revenge,  is  to  be  the  dominant  motive  of  the  action. 
In  the  midst  of  this  jubilee,  Cassius  and  Brutus  appear 
upon  the  scene.  And  it  now  quickly  becomes  manifest 
that  Cassius'  envy  (in  the  full  Baconian  sense  of  the  word) 
is  indeed  set  on  edge.  He  is  unmistakably  operating  upon 
Brutus  ;  not  idly  or  at  random,  but  intelligently,  in  the 
persistent  prosecution  of  a  definite  purpose.  After  the 
interview  he  says  to  Cinna: 

"  See  Brutus  at  his  house :  three  parts  of  him 
Is  ours  already ;  and  the  man  entii*e, 
Upon  the  next  encounter  yields  him  ours." 

To  what  end  ?  Cmsars  death  !  Manifestly,  premed- 
itated murder  is  enthroned  in  Cassius'  heart,  directing  all 
his  energies.  Unlike  Brutus,  there  are  no  evidences  of 
internal  conflict ;  no  struggles  with  reason  or  conscience. 
His  purpose  has  complete  possession  of  the  man.  Small 
vices  are  little  devils,  but  murder  is  a  fiend.  The  great 
Goethe  opens  his  dramatic  masterpiece,  I*\(ust,  with  thy 
medi;eval  "  fantasy"  of  the  devil  appearing  in  person  to 
a  b/ase  old  man  and  buying  his  soul,  by  the  welcomed 
proffer  of  personal  service  and  unlimited  pleasures.  But 
Ba(;on,  dealing  directly  with  realities,  in  their  immeasur- 
able depths,  has  here  portrayed  the  far  more  awful  spec- 
tacle, of  humanly  incarnate  malevolence,  not  seducing 
guileless  innocence  or  toppling  old  age,  but  through  the 
exercise  of  its  terrible  power,  actually  beguiling  into 
crime  a  mature  man,  strong,  virtuous,  generous,  of  noble 
aspirations  and  disinterested  purpose,  the  very  perst):ii:i 
cation  of  magnanimity : 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  383 

"  His  life  was  gentle  ;  and  the  elements 
So  mix'd  in  him  that  Nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  This  teas  a  Tuan." 
It  is  all  the  more  terrible  because  of  its  truth  to  the  life 
about  us.     As  Cassius,  in  the  foretaste  of  victory,  coolly 
observes : 

"therefore  it  is  meet 
That  noble  minds  keep  ever  with  their  likes : 
For  who  so  firm  that  cannot  be  seduced?" 

ludeed,  the  portrayal  is  so  absolutely  faithful  to  life, 
where  in  such  proceedings,  the  real  animus  and  intent  are 
usually  cloaked  under  the  specious  garb  of  normal,  vir- 
tuous instincts,  that  the  glamour  falls  even  upon  our  eyes, 
and  these  "  depths  of  Satan  "  had  well-nigh  escaped  our 
observation. 

In  his  Advancement  of  Learning^  Second  Book,  Bacon 
aptly  says :  "  For  as  the  fable  goeth  of  the  Basilisk,  that 
if  he  see  you  first  you  die  for  it,  but  if  you  see  him  first 
he  dieth ;  so  is  it  with  deceits  and  evil  arts;  which  if 
they  be  first  espied  they  leese  their  life,  but  if  they  pre- 
vent they  endanger.  So  that  we  are  much  beholden  to 
Machiavel  and  others,  that  write  what  men  do,  and  not 
what  they  ought  to  do.*     For  it  is  not  possible  to  join 

*  "  I  '11  drown  more  sailors  than  the  mermaid  shall ; 
I'll  slay  more  gazers  than  the  basilisk; 
I  '11  play  the  orator  as  well  as  Nestor ; 
Deceive  more  slily  than  Ulysses  could ; 
And,  like  a  Sinon,  take  another  Troy : 
I  can  add  colors  to  the  cameleon ; 
Change  shapes  with  Proteus,  for  advantages, 
And  set  the  murdei'ous  Machiavel  to  school." 

—///.,  Henrij  VI.,  I/I.,  2. 
"  Make  me  not  sighted  like  the  basilisk : 
I  have  look't  on  thousands,  who  have  sped  the  better 
By  my  regard,  but  kill'd  none  so." 

—A  Winters  Tale,  /.,  2. 
"Am  I  politic?  am  I  subtle?  am  I  a  Machiavel?" 
— Merry  Wives,  HI,  /. 


184  FRANCIS    BACON 

serpentine  wisdom  with  the  cohimbine  innocency,  except 
men  know  exactly  all  the  conditions  of  the  serpent ;  his 
baseness  and  going  upon  his  belly,  his  volubility  and 
lubricity,  his  envy  and  sting,  and  the  rest ;  that  is,  all 
forms  and  natures  of  evil.  For  without  this,  virtue  lieth 
open  and  unfenced.  Nay  an  honest  man  can  do  no  good 
upon  those  that  are  wicked  to  reclaim  them,  without  the 
help  of  the  knowledge  of  evil." 

Let  us  here  also  follow  in  his  footsteps,  tracing  out,  to 
use  his  words,  "  the  roots  of  good  and  evil,  and  the  strings 
of  those  roots." 

Bacon  opens  his  Essay  with  the  pregnant  words : 
"  There  be  none  of  the  affections  which  have  been  noted 
to  fascinate  or  bewitch,  but  love  and  envy ;  "  a  hint  which, 
in  its  expansion,  inducts  us  at  once  into  the  mode  of  the 
action.  In  a  word,  strange  as  at  first  blush  it  may  appear, 
it  becomes  plainly  manifest,  through  a  comparison  of  all 
the  details  in  their  express  significance,  that  Cassius,  in  his 
malevolence,  exercises  over  Brutus  that  awful  power  of 
Fascination  (often  ignored,  but  none  the  less  real)  which, 
in  such  Satanic  use,  is  essentially  the  base  perversion  to 
evil  of  Love's  transcendent  power  ;  in  fine,  the  pollute  and 
polluting  energy  of  the  "  evil  eye,"  "  the  proper  attribute 
of  the  devil." 

Strong  man  that  he  was,  Brutus  flutters  like  a  bird, 
under  this  serpent's  charm  : 

"  Into  what  dangers  would  you  lead  me,  Cassius, 
That  you  would  have  me  seek  into  myself 
For  that  which  is  not  in  me?" 

"  But  wherefore  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long? 
What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me?" 

"  That  you  do  love  me,  I  am  nothing  jealous; 
What  you  would  work  me  to  I  have  some  aim; 
How  I  have  thought  of  this  and  of  these  times 
I  shall  recount  liereafter ;  for  this  present, 
I  would  not,  so  with  love  I  might  entreat  you, 
Be  any  further  moved." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  185 

<'  For  this  time  I  will  leave  you : 
To-morrow,  if  you  please  to  speak  with  me, 
I  will  come  home  to  you ;  or,  if  you  will 
Come  home  to  me,  and  I  will  wait  for  you." 

And  to  our  now  opened  eyes,  Cassius'  animus  quickly 
becomes  manifest.  Does  he  discourse  to  Brutus  of  Lib- 
erty ?  Of  its  sacredness,  or  its  peril  ?  Of  the  Republic, 
or  of  the  responsibility  of  its  citizens  ?  Or  even  of  the 
welfare  of  the  state,  or  of  the  common  good?  Not  at 
all.  Surely  these  are  the  things,  bespeaking  a  noble  inteut, 
that  would  strongly  move  a  man  of  Brutus'  mould.  But 
such  considerations  are  alien  to  Cassius'  purpose.  His 
theme  is  personal,  and  insidious  wiles  are  his  method. 

Envy  frames  itself  "  readily  into  Imaginations  and  Sug- 
gestions." He  'obscurely  glances  at  Csesar's  ambition  '; 
thereby  most  effectually  inciting  in  Brutus  the  inward 
working  power  of  Apprehension.  He  cunningly  directs 
upon  him  the  force  of  Opinion,  with  the  light  touch  of  a 
glittering  generality : 

"  I  have  heard, 
Where  many  of  the  best  respect  in  Rome, 
(Except  immortal  Caesar),  speaking  of  Brutus, 
And  groaning  nnderneath  this  ages  yoke, 
Have  wish'd  that  noble  Brutus  had  his  eyes." 
But  first  of  all,  with  exquisite  subtlety,  he  creates  the 
genial  atmosphere  of   affection  ;   through  expressions  of 
tender  solicitude,  of  an  injured  grief,  that  vanishes  at  the 
word  of  explanation  —  the  sun  shining  warmer  after  the 
storm-bearing  cloud  has  cleared.    And  "  your  friend  that 
loves  you  "  follows  up  the  advantage,  by  working-  the  giddy 
spell  wrought  through  the  intoxicating  power  of  delicious 
flattery ;  savoring  of  Opinion  and  piquant  with  Sugges- 
tion. 

"  And  it  is  very  much  lamented,  Brutus, 
That  you  have  no  such  mirrors  as  will  turn 
Yoiu-  hidden  worthiness  into  your  eye. 
That  you  might  tsee  your  shadow." 


186  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  Therefore,  good  Brutus,  be  prepared  to  hear : 
And  since  you  know  you  cannot  see  yourself 
So  well  as  by  reflection,  I,  your  glass. 
Will  modestly  discover  to  yourself 
That  of  yourself,  which  you  yet  know  not  of." 

Cassius  strengthens  the  dose  by  the  infusion  of  a  sense 
of  its  sincerity  and  exceptional  value,  sweetening  it  with 
a  tincture  of  affection  : 

"  And  be  not  jealous  on  me,  gentle  Brutus : 
Were  I  a  common  laugher,  or  did  use 
To  stale  with  ordinary  oaths  my  love 
To  every  new  protester ;  if  you  know 
That  I  do  fawn  on  men,  and  hug  them  hard. 
And  after  scandal  them ;  or  if  you  know 
That  I  profess  myself  in  banqueting 
To  all  the  rout,  then  hold  me  dangerous." 

Nor  is  the  spell  wrought  in  vain.  '  The  charm  Avorks 
apace,'  and  the  subtle  stimulant  mounts  quickly  to  the 
brain,  producing  the  usual  exhilaration.  Brutus  shows 
that  this  high  opinion  of  himself  is  not  vmfounded  :  he 
is  equal  to  any  demand  that  may  be  made  upon  him.  Ris- 
ing to  the  full  height  of  conscious  greatness  and  nobility 
of  soul,  he  speaks  of  himself  in  impassioned  tones  ;  giving 
utterance  to  the  innermost  thought  of  his  heart,  and  to  its 
inspiration  : 

"  What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me? 
If  it  be  ought  toward  the  general  good. 
Set  honor  in  one  eye,  and  death  i'  the  other. 
And  I  will  look  on  both  indifferently: 
For,  let  the  gods  so  speed  me  as  I  love 
The  name  of  honor  more  than  I  fear  death." 

But  all  unconsciously  to  himself,  the  meshes  are  even 
now  tightening  around  him.  In  this  moment  of  heroic 
exaltation  and  excitement,  he  has  at  one  blow  swept  away 
t!ie  protecting  barriers  of  self-restraint  and  prudent  re- 
st;rve — the  safeguards  of  personality — and  has  bared  his 
bosom  to  the  attack.     Cassius,  seizing  the  opportunity, 


AKIJ    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  187 

for  which  he  has  so  cunningly  wrought,  instantly  responds 
with  words  of  personal  appreciation, — of  his  consciousness 
of  this  greatness.  He  is  thoroughly  en  rappoH  with  him; 
responsive  in  thought  and  word,  in  the  sweet  harmony  of 
perfect  accord : 

"  I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  Brutus, 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favor- 
Well,  honor  is  the  subject  of  my  story. — " 

In  this,  Cassius  is  more  than  adroit ;  for  as  Bacon  pro- 
foundly observes,  in  his  Essay,  Of  Praise :  "If  he  be  a 
cunning  flatterer,  he  will  follow  the  arch-flatterer,  which  is 
a  man's  self,  and  wherein  a  man  thinketh  best  of  himself, 
therein  the  flatterer  will  uphold  him  most." 

And  here  follows  the  effective  work  in  the  action,  the 
consummation  of  the  spell. 

In  his  study  of  Fascination  (Ndtural  Historij^  Century 
X.)  Bacon  says:  "The  fifth  is  the  emissions  of  spirits; 
and  this  is  the  principal  in  our  intention  to  handle  now  in 
this  place  ;  namely,  the  operation  of  the  spirits  of  the 
mind  of  man  upon  other  spirits  :  and  this  is  of  a  double 
nature  ;  the  operations  of  the  affections,  if  they  be  vehe- 
ment ;  and  the  operation  of  the  imagination,  if  it  be  stroiuj. 
But  these  two  are  so  coupled,  as  we  shall  handle  them  to- 
gether :  for  when  an  envious  or  amorous  aspect  doth  in- 
fect the  spirits  of  another,  there  is  joined  both  aifection 
and  imagination." 

And  again  :  "  Certainly  it  is  agreeable  to  reason,  that 
there  are  at  the  least  some  light  effluxions  fronx  si)irit  to 
spirit,  when  men  are  in  the  presence  one  with  another,  as 
well  as  from  body  to  body.  .  .  .  Audacity  and  confidence 
doth,  in  civil  business,  so  great  effects,  as  a  man  may  rea- 
sonably doubt  that,  besides  the  very  daring  and  earnestness 
and  persisting  and  importunity,  there  should  be  some  secret 
hindliKj  and  stoophuj  of  other  men's  spirits  to  such  per- 
sons. The  affections  (no  doubt)  do  make  the  spirits  more 
jwwcrful  and  active  ;  and  es])ecially  those  affections  which 
draw  the  spirits  into  the  eyes :  which  are  two  :  love,  and 


188  FRANCIS    BACON 

envy,  which  is  called  oculus  malus.  .  .  .  But  yet  if  there 
be  any  such  infection  from  spirit  to  spirit,  there  is  no 
doubt  but  that  it  worketh  by  presence,  and  not  by  the  eye 
alone ;  yet  most  forcibly  by  the  eye.  Fear  and  shame  are 
likewise  infective ;  for  we  see  that  the  starting  of  one  will 
make  another  ready  to  start:  and,  when  one  man  is  out 
of  countenance  in  a  company,  others  do  likewise  blush  in 
his  behalf." 

Taking  up  the  thread,  in  the  light  of  Bacon's  explana- 
tions :  The  sight  of  Csesar's  relative  (jreatness,  '  steeply 
rising,'  and  its  aggravating  contemplation,  had  enraged 
Cassius,  even  unto  venom.  Determined  upon  Ciesar's 
death,  he  is  now  striving  with  all  his  might  to  "  infect  " 
Brutus  with  this  poison  ;  —  to  "  whet "  him  against  Ciesar 
personally.  To  this  end,  he  now  exerts  upon  him  that 
supreme  enchantment  wrought  by  Example ;  displaying 
before  him  openly,  shamelessly,  with  hot  vehemence  and 
impassioned  words,  the  workings  of  this  poison  within 
himself  ;  fanning  into  sheets  of  flame  the  lire  raging  in 
his  own  heart  and  tingling  in  his  veins.  For  infection, 
like  fire,  is  communicated  by  contact,  through  its  mani- 
festation. 

Or  to  put  it  more  directly,  translating  Bacon's  words 
into  the  language  of  modern  thought :  Cassius  is  thereby 
exerting  upon  Brutus  a  positive  force ;  expending  upon 
him  personal  energy,  in  the  accomplishment  of  "  work." 
In  the  rhythm  of  being,  our  souls  are  attuned  to  exquisite 
vibration  ;  and  in  the  atmosphere  of  Love,  whose  spell 
Cassius  had  already  wrought,  these  vibrations  are  com- 
municated ;  coalescing  by  sweet  compulsion  into  harmony, 
wherein  is  satisfaction ;  communicating,  through  their 
translation  into  manifestation  and  their  re-translation 
through  impression,  in  this  universal  telephone.  And  thus 
by  the  very  laws  of  existence,  a  (;hord  sharply  struck  in 
one  determined  heart,  and  sounding  forth  loudly,  vehe- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  189 

mently,  persistently,  and  as  here,  concentrated  in  its  man- 
ifestations upon  another,  loving,  highly  strung,  and  in  a 
receptive  mood,  is  a  powerful  force,  tending  almost  inev- 
itably to  awaken  in  that  heart  like  chords  in  sympathetic 
vibration. 

And  now,  while  the  word  "honor  "  is  still  sounding  in 
Brutus'  soul,  all  tumultuous  with  heroic  emotion,  Cassius 
bursts  forth  in  a  subtly  coalescing  peal  of  true  musical 
quality,  loudly  ringing ;  in  whose  vibrations  we  feel 
instinctively  the  impress  of  a  determined,  concentrated 
will-power  ;  which  must  have  thrilled  Brutus,  penetrating 
him  to  the  core : 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  you  and  other  men 

Think  of  this  life ;  but,  for  my  single  self, 

I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself." 

We  can  almost  hear  the  responding,  "Amen,"  to  such  a 
clear  proposition,  so  involved  in  "  honor."  But  the  key- 
note is  struck ;  and  thence  the  theme  is  developed  in  con- 
tinuous strains,  stealing  into  Brutus'  soul  their  poisonous 
thrill.  "  Envy  is  ever  joined  with  the  comparing  of  a 
man's  self ;  and  where  there  is  no  comparison,  no  envy." 
Cassius  purposes  to  thoroughly  initiate  Brutus  into  this 
mode  of  thought,  already  subtly  engendered.  He  accord- 
ingly prolongs  the  strain  into  the  definite  enunciation  of  a 
comparison — one  of  self-evident  truth, — gently  interweav- 
ing Brutus  within  its  terms  ;  thus  '  secretly  binding  and 
stooping  his  mind,'  making  him  to  think  the  same  thoughts 
at  the  same  time  : 

"  I  was  born  free  as  Caesar  ;  so  were  you : 
We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he." 

Although  this  needs  no  demonstration,  Cassius  con- 
tinues in  its  exemplification  ;  binding  Brutus  into  closer 
assent,  and  accustoming  him  in  this  trend  of  thought.    He 


190  FRANCIS    BACON 

If  counts  the  swim  with  his  old  comrade  in  the  Tiber ; 
where  Csesar  had  been  ignominiously  worsted  in  this  con- 
test of  physical  strength  and  endurance,  —  tlie  especial 
pride  of  the  Romans : 

"Caesar  cried,  '■Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink.' 
I,  as  ^neas,  our  great  ancestor, 
Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  ui)oii  his  shoulders 
The  okl  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 
Did  I  the  tired  Csesar." 

And  now  he  works  upon  Brutus  the  mightiest  spell  of 
all ;  whose  mystery  is  almost  inscrutable.  By  virtue  of 
the  hold  already  acquired,  and  through  the  operation  of 
subtle  but  potent  forces  directed  upon  him,  he  would  actu- 
ally carry  Brutus  bff  his  moorings  ;  taking  the  helm  him- 
self, and  shaping  the  course  ;  binding  Brutus'  mind  into 
consonance  with  his  will ;  enforcing  his  thoughts  upon  him, 
in  their  entirety  ;  making  them  Brutus'  own  ;  and  imprint- 
ing them  so  deeply  that  they  must  eventually  warp  him  to 
their  inevitable  conclusion.  Brutus'  honorable  metal,  "  of 
all  other  the  most  pliant  and  enduring  to  be  wrought," 
must  indeed  "  be  wrought  from  that  it  is  disposed  ";  but 
such  working  could  only  be  performed  under  the  fire  of 
Imagination. 

Bacon  informs  us  that  "  Fascination  is  the  power  and 
act  of  Imagination,  intensive  upon  the  body  of  another." 
And  in  his  Natural  Hlstoi'y^  he  relates,  "  not  for  the  weight 
thereof,  but  because  it  doth  handsomely  open  the  nature 
of  the  question  ";  the  explanation  given  him  by  a  gentle- 
man of  the  artifice  whereby  a  juggler  could  tell  a  man  what 
card  he  thought;  to  wit,  "It  was  not  the  knowledge  of 
the  man's  thought  (for  that  is  proper  to  God)  but  it  was 
the  enforcing  of  a  thought  upon  him,  and  binding  his 
imagination  hy  a  stronger,  that  he  could  think  no  other 
card.  .  .  .  for  if  the  man  had  thought  first,  his  thought 
had  been  fixed  ;  but  the  other  imagining  first,  bound  his 
thought."     Bacon  pertinently  remarks :  "  The  inquisition 


AND    IITS    SHAKESPEARE.  191 

of  this  subject  in  our  way  (which  is  by  induction)  is  won- 
derful hard :  for  the  things  that  are  reported  are  full  of 
fables  ;  and  new  experiments  can  hardly  be  made  but  with 
extreme  caution,  for  the  reason  which  we  will  hereafter 
declare."  He  says:  "Imagination  in  this  place,  1  under- 
stand to  be,  the  representation  of  an  ind'iv'idu<(l  thougJit. 
Imagination  is  of  three  kinds :  the  first  joined  with  belief 
of  that  which  is  to  come :  the  second  joined  with  memory 
of  that  which  is  past:  and  the  third  is  of  things  present, 
or  as  if  they  were  present ;  for  I  comprehend  in  this  im- 
aginations feigned  and  at  pleasure;  as  if  one  should  im- 
agine such  a  man  to  he  in  the  vestments  of  a  Pope^  or  to 
have  tvingsy 

Cassius,  utilizing  this  prmciple,  gives  representation  to 
his  individual  thought  in  a  Titanic  sweep  of  the  imagina- 
tion, of  terribly  enforcing  power : 

"  and  this  man 
Is  noiv  become  a  God;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 
If  Csesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him." 

He  continues  the  figure,  charging  his  words  with  venom  : 
"  He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And  when  the  fever  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake:   'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake: 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly ; 

Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 

A  man  of  such  2i  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world. 
And  bear  the  palm  alono.'' 

The  Dramatist  ever  lays  heavy  odds  against  himself. 
Brutus  loves  Csesar.  And  love  is  ever  alert  to  any  pos- 
sible offence  against  the  loved  one.  But  though  there  is 
here  afforded  an  opportunity  to  protest  against  the  ven- 
omous implication  inherent  in  the  words  "  coward  "  and 
"  feeble,"  so  manifestly  unjust  in  their  application  to 
Caesar,  Brutus  is  so  wrought  upon,  so  "  spell-bound,"  that 
he  is  wholly  unconscious  of  the  insidious  poison  he  is  im- 


102  FRANCIS    TIACON 

bibing :  which,  in  reality,  is  vitiating  his  love ;  gradually 
but  surely  transforming  his  personal  attitude  towards 
Caesar.  Bnt  instead,  as  a  peal  of  acclamation  is  borne  in 
upon  them,  Brutus  responds : 

"  Another  general  shout ! 
I  do  believe  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honors  that  are  Aect/^'cZ  on  Coesar.^' 

Bacon  continues  :  "  The  experiments  which  may  cer- 
tainly demonstrate  the  power  of  imagination  upon  other 
bodies,  are  few  or  none :  .  .  .  We  shall,  therefore,  be 
forced  in  this  inquiry  to  resort  to  new  experiments ; 
wherein  we  can  give  only  directions  of  trials,  and  not  any 
positive  experiments.  .  .  .  We  find  in  the  art  of  memory, 
that  images  visible  work  better  than  other  conceits :  as  if 
you  would  remember  the  word  '  philosophy,'  you  shall 
more  surely  do  it  by  imagining  that  such  a  man  (for  men 
are  the  best  places)  is  reading  upon  Aristotle's  Physics ; 
than  if  you  should  imagine  him  to  say, '  I  '11  go  study  phil- 
osophy.' And  therefore  this  observation  would  be  trans- 
lated to  the  subject  we  now  speak  of :  for  the  more  lus- 
trous the  imagination  is,  it  jilleth  and  Jixeth  the  better. 
And  therefore  I  conceive  that  you  shall,  in  that  experi- 
ment (whereof  we  spake  before)  of  blncling  of  thoughts, 
less  fail,  if  you  tell  one  that  such  an  one  shall  name  one 
of  twenty  men,  than  if  it  were  one  of  twenty  cards." 

This  enables  us  to  appreciate  the  intent,  the  tremen- 
dous force  and  binding  power,  of  the  lustrous  figure  Cas- 
sius  now  pictures  into  Brutus'  mind  ;  there  to  remain  for- 
ever a  vivid  imprint ;  of  the  very  substance  of  his  mental 
conception  of  Caesar : 

"  Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world, 
Like  a  Colossus:  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves." 

Seemingly  conscious  that  this  part  of  his  work  had  been 
fully  accomplished, — "the  stronger  impression  carrying 
the  rest  with  it," —  Cassius  now  closes  in  upon  Brutus  ; 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  193 

laying  hold  upon  the  springs  of  action,  and  putting  them 
into  operation.  Brutus  is  a  strong  man,  thoroughly  self- 
reliant,  resolute,  a  man  of  decision  and  action.  And  Cas- 
sius,  by  a  subtle  stroke,  arouses  these  very  energies,  direct- 
ing them  against  Csesar ;  Brutus'  very  greatness  making 
him  here  especially  pliant,  and  inevitably  responsive  to  the 
touch. 

In  his  Advancement  of  Learning,  Second  Book,  Bacon 
says  :  "  But  yet  nevertheless  these  positions,  Faher  quisque 
fortunce  suae ;  Sapiens  dominahitur  astris ;  Invia  vir- 
tuti  ntdla  est  via  ;  (Every  man  is  the  maker  of  his  for- 
tune ;  the  wise  man  will  command  his  stars ;  No  path  is 
impervious  to  virtue)  ;  and  the  like,  being  taken  and  used 
as  sinirs  to  industry,  and  not  as  stirrups  to  insolency, 
rather  for  resolution  than  for  presumption  or  outward  de- 
claration, have  been  ever  thought  sound  and  good,  and  are 
no  question  imprinted  in  the  greatest  minds ;  who  are  so 
sensible  of  this  opinion  as  they  can  scarce  contain  it 
within." 

Cassius  noviT  strikes  forcibly  upon  this  chord,  well  know- 
ins:  that  it  will  continue  to  vibrate  in  Brutus,  until  it  is  si- 
lenced  by  resolve : 

"INIen  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates  : 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  oar  stars. 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings.'" 

In  his  Essay,  Of  Cunning,  Bacon  says:  "Another 
[point  of  cunning]  is,  that  when  you  have  anything  to 
obtain  of  present  dispatch,  you  entertain  and  amuse  the 
party  with  whom  you  deal  with  some  other  discourse,  that 
he  he  not  too  much  awake  to  make  objections."  Cassius 
here  makes  analogous  use  of  the  underlying  principle. 
Sheathing  the  spur  for  a  moment,  he  hides  from  immedi- 
ate view  the  awful  consequences  necessarily  involved  in 
this  Suggestion,  by  the  instant  display,  in  rapid  sequence, 
of  a  series  of  delusive  conceptions  ;  centering  the  compar- 
ison on  Brutus  alone  ;  and  dazzling  his  vision  by  the  iri- 
descent play  of  brilliant  fancies : 


194  FRANCIS    BACON 

'^'■Brutus  and  C(esar :  what  should  be  in  that  Ccvsar? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
AVeigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy ;  conjure  with  them, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spii'it  as  soon  as  Cwsar.''' 

And  finally,  Bacon  says  (De  Augmentis,  Fifth  Book)  : 
"  And  again,  it  is  no  small  dominion  which  Imagination 
holds  in  persuasions  that  are  wrought  by  eloquence ;  for 
when  by  arts  of  speech  men's  minds  are  soothed,  inflamed, 
and  carried  hither  and  thither,  it  is  all  done  by  stimulat- 
ing the  imagination  till  it  becomes  ungovernable,  and  not 
only  sets  reason  at  naught,  but  offers  violence  to  it,  partly 
by  blinding,  partly  by  incensing  it." 

And  in  climax,  Cassius  employs  this  dominating  power 
to  effectually  clinch  his  binding  hold  upon  Brutus  ;  firing 
his  imagination  into  an  ungovernable  flame  ;  in  whose  in- 
tensity Brutus'  soul  is  subtly  incensed  against  Csesar; 
whose  glare  blinds  his  vision,  and  whose  impetus  whirls 
him  irretrievably  into  the  vortex  of  crime.  This  Cassius 
accomplishes  by  the  concentration  of  all  his  energies  into 
one  sustained,  melodious  strain  of  im^^assioned  eloquence ; 
ringing  all  possible  changes  upon  the  theme  of  "  one  man  " 
filling  Kome  till  there  is  no  room ;  and  rising  upon  the 
tide  of  swelling  emotion  to  a  culmination,  in  the  thrilling 
appeal  to  Brutus'  just  pride  in  his  great  ancestor,  and  an 
irresistible  implication  of  shame  upon  a  possibly  degen- 
erate son : 

"  Now  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once. 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great?     Age,  thou  art  shamed ! 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood. 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man  ? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walks  encompass'd  but  one  man  ? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  195 

When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 
O !  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say, 
There  was  a  Brutus  once  that  would  have  brook'd 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 
As  easily  as  a  king." 

The  spell  is  wrought ;  and  Brutus  is  lost.  Imagina- 
tion, not  reason,  is  at  the  helm  ;  and  the  tremendous  forces 
of  good  within  him,  the  mighty  motive  powers,  under  full 
pressure,  are  driving  him  straight  into  crime.  It  is  but 
a  question  of  hours  when  this  fiend  incarnate  can  claim 
him  as  his  own  : 

"  three  parts  of  him 
Is  ours  already ;  and  the  man  entire. 
Upon  the  next  encounter,  yields  him  ours. 

Let  us  go, 

For  it  is  after  midnight ;  and  ere  day 
We  will  awake  him,  and  be  sure  of  him." 

How  profoundly  Brutus  is  moved ;  how  that  it  is  all 
that  he  can  endure  ;  his  implicit  confidence  throughout  in 
Cassius'  good  intent;  his  dawning  consciousness  that 
Csesar's  death  is  the  awful  deed  to  which  he  is  being 
worked  ;  his  poignant  apprehension  of  the  hard  conditions 
likely  to  come  upon  them  in  Rome,  "  when  there  is  in  it 
but  one  only  man  ";  his  gentle  pride ;  his  strong,  laconic 
reticence ;  his  instinctive  aversion  to  external  constraint ; 
his  habitual  self-reliance,  even  under  the  severest  strain  ; 
liis  purposed  deliberation ;  his  resolute  determination,  fac- 
ing squarely  the  issue,  to  be  equal  to  the  occasion  ;  and 
the  first  flaming  of  the  fire  now  enkindled  within  him,  aic 
all  disclosed  in  his  response  to  Cassius : 

"  That  you  do  love  me,  I  am  nothing  jealous ; 
What  you  would  work  me  to,  I  have  some  aim ; 
How  I  have  thought  of  this,  and  of  these  times, 
I  shall  recount  hereafter ;  for  this  present, 
I  would  not,  so  with  love  I  might  entreat  you. 
Be  any  further  moved.     What  you  have  said, 
I  will  consider ;   what  you  have  to  say. 


196  FRANCIS    BACON 

I  will  with  patience  hear ;  and  find  a  time 
Both  ctieet  to  hear  and  answer  such  high  things. 
Till  then,  my  noble  friend,  chew  upon  this : 
Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager. 
Than  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome 
Under  these  hard  conditions  as  this  time 
Is  like  to  lay  upon  us." 

Cassius  is  content.  He  comprehends  the  man,  his  per- 
turbed condition,  the  trend  of  his  thoughts,  and  the  con- 
clusion to  which  they  will  inevitably  lead  him.  And  so 
he  simply  upholds  Brutus  in  this  bent  by  an  expression 
of  warm  approval ;  cunningly  removing  any  sense  of  out- 
ward constraint,  and  in  effect,  complimenting  him,  by 
strongly  depreciating  his  own  effort : 

"  I  am  glad  that  my  weak  words 
Have  struck  but  this  much  show  of  fire  from  Brutus." 

Though  in  this  subtle  touch,  Cassius  is  but  fanning 
the  incipient  fire  into  flame,  by  the  gentlest  wafture  ;  for 
Brutus  must  have  been  conscious  that  if  such  words  were 
indeed  "  weak,"  it  was  because  they  were  inadequate  to 
the  situation. 

In  his  study  of  Fascination  (Natural  History^  Century 
X.)  Bacon  continues  : 

"  It  is  good  to  consider  upon  what  things  imagination 
hath  most  force :  and  the  rule  (as  I  conceive)  is,  that  it 
hath  most  force  upon  things  that  have  the  lightest  and 
easiest  motions.  And  therefore  above  all,  upon  the  spir- 
its of  men ;  and  in  them,  upon  such  affections  as  move 
lightest ;  as  upon  procuring  of  love  ;  binding  of  lust,  which 
is  ever  with  imagination  ;  upon  men  in  fear ;  or  men  in 
irresolution ;  and  the  like."  And  again :  "  The  body 
passive  and  to  be  wrought  upon  (I  mean  not  of  the  imag- 
inant),  is  better  wrought  upon  (as  hath  been  partly 
touched)  at  some  times  than  at  others."  And  he  notes 
"  choice  of  the  hour  "  as  among  the  things  that  have  "  been 
used  in  magic  (if  there  be  in  these  practices  anything  that 
is  purely  natural)." 


AND    HIS    STTAKESPEARE.  197 

The  embodiment  of  these  principles  in  the  scene  maizes 
the  representation  complete.  In  the  beginning,  upon  the 
exit  of  Caesar's  triumphal  procession,  Cassius  finds  Brutus 
in  a  disturbed  condition,  disquieted,  troubled,  anxious  ; 
evidently  regarding  the  state  of  affairs  in  Rome : 
"  I  am  not  gamesome :  I  do  lack  some  part 
Of  that  quick  spirit  that  is  in  Antony. 

if  I  have  vell'd  my  look, 

I  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 
Merely  upon  myself.     Vexed  I  am, 
Of  late,  with  passions  of  some  difFerence, 
Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself, 
Which  give  some  soil,  perhaps,  to  my  behavior : 
But  let  not  therefore  my  good  friends  be  grieved ; 
(Among  which  number,  Cassius,  be  you  one)  ; 
Nor  construe  any  further  my  neglect. 
Than  that  poor  Brutus,  with  himself  at  war, 
Forgets  the  shows  of  love  to  other  men." 
And  all  through  the  hour  of  their  conversation,  shouts 
of  acclamation,  heard  in  applause  of  Caesar,  are  tingling 
in  their  ears.    And  at  this  juncture,  Caesar  and  his  train, 
returning  from  the  course,  flash  across  the  scene,  and 
"  The  angry  spot  doth  glow  on  Caesar's  brow." 
And  as  though  Fate,  that  awful  mystery  to  the  Romans, 
were  indeed  an  invisible  actor,  behind  the  scene,  playing 
now  directly  into  Cassius'  hand,  and  crowding  Csesar  to 
his  doom,  Brutus  is  told  that,  this  day,  a  crown  has  been 
thrice  offered  to  Caesar;  put  by  "  every  time  gentler  than 
other." 

The  relation  of  the  incident  of  Caesar's  "  falling  sick- 
ness "  also  enables  Cassius  to  quicken  Brutus'  Apprehen- 
sion by  a  home  thrust : 

"  No,  Caesar  hath  it  not ;  but  you  and  I 
And  honest  Casca,  we  have  the  falling  sickness." 

Cassius  likewise  takes  advantage  of  the  departure  of 
Casca,  and  of  the  usual  conversation  about  him  between 
those  left  behind,  to  give  Brutus'  mind  a  push  in  the  direc- 


198  FRANCIS    BACON 

tion  of  its  present  bent ;  and  tlils  by  the  su))tlest  Intima- 
tion of  the  formation  and  execution  of  a  concerted  design : 

"  Brutus.  What  a  bhuit  fellow  is  this  grown  to  be ! 
He  was  quick  mettle  when  he  went  to  school. 
Cassius.  So  he  is  now,  in  execution 
Of  any  hold  or  nolle  enterprise, 
However  lie  puts  on  this  tardy  form." 

Brutus  also  departs  ;  and  Cassius,  left  alone,  opens  his 
heart  to  our  scrutiny.  Richard  III.,  that  fiend  incarnate 
in  a  misshapen  body,  through  this  terrible  power  of  Fas- 
cination, wins  a  betrothal  of  marriage  from  the  widowed 
Lady  Anne,  in  the  very  presence  of  the  bleeding  body  of 
lier  late  beloved  husband,  whom  she  knew  Richard  had 
murdered  :  and  now,  we  can  almost  hear  his  Satanic  "  Ha, 
ha,"  ringing  in  the  undertones  of  Cassius'  soliloquy,  as  he 
chuckles  to  himself  over  his  beguilement  of  Brutus,  plans 
its  continuance,  and  anticipates  the  wreaking  of  his  hatred 
upon  Caesar : 

"  Well,  Brutus,  thou  art  noble  ;  yet  I  see 
Thy  honorable  metal  may  be  wrought 
From  that  it  is  disposed :  therefore  it  is  meet 
That  noble  minds  keep  ever  with  their  likes : 
For  who  so  firm  that  cannot  be  seduced  ? 
Caesar  doth  bear  me  hard :  but  he  loves  Brutus : 
If  I  were  Brutus  now,  and  he  were  Cassius, 
He  should  not  humor  me.     I  will  this  night, 
In  several  hands,  in  at  his  windows  throw, 
As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens. 
Writings,  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 
That  Rome  holds  of  his  name ;  wherein  obscurely 
Caesar's  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at ; 
And,  after  this,  let  Caesar  seat  him  sure ; 
For  we  will  shake  him,  or  worse  days  endure." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  199 


CHAPTER  VI. 

And  now,  while  we  pause  for  a  moment's  rest,  ere  we  re- 
sume with  Brutus,  let  us  fill  in  the  time  in  noting  how 
cleverly  Cicero  is  handled  in  the  play. 

Bacon's  exposition  of  Divination,  from  which  a  brief 
quotation  is  given,  ante,  page  160,  note,  is  substantially  a 
condensation  from  Cicero's  treatise.  On  Dicination.  In  the 
first  part  of  this  work,  Cicero  argues  quite  plausibly  in 
its  favor,  as  worthy  of  credence  ;  but  in  the  concluding 
portion  he  turns  about  and  argues  much  more  strongly 
against  it.  To  freshly  roast  a  still  savory  "  chestnut  ": 
This  was  like  Rufus  Choate  appearing  in  court  success- 
ively upon  opposite  sides  of  the  same  question,  and  reply- 
ing to  the  quizzing  judge,  "  Yesterday  I  thought  I  was 
right ;  to-day  I  hnovj  I  am."  And  it  is  told  that  he  used 
often  to  argue  with  his  cronies  upon  one  side  of  some  sub- 
ject until  he  had  convinced  them,  and  then  upon  the  other 
side  until  he  had  convinced  them  back  again.  But  this 
sort  of  mental  gymnastics,  like  the  ground  and  lofty  tum- 
bling of  the  well-oiled  acrobat,  though  highly  entertaining 
to  the  audience,  is  inevitably  weakening  to  the  backbone 
of  the  performer.  It  makes  him  very  flexible  indeed,  but 
unduly  loosens  the  joints  ;  for  sincerity  and  fidelity  to  con- 
viction are  the  vertebrae  in  the  spinal  column  of  charac- 
ter, coalescing  in  unity  of  thought  and  action.  And  some- 
how, there  is  in  this  very  flexibility  of  a  highly  developed 
reason,  trained  to  the  discernment  and  constant  balancing 
of  a  great  variety  of  opposing  considerations,  a  marked 


200  FRANCIS    BACON 

tendency  to  make  one  excellent  indeed  in  contemplation, 
but  negative  or  irresolute  in  action. 

This  seems  to  have  been  Cicero's  cliaracteristic  weak- 
ness, or  at  least,  such  was  Bacon's  conception  of  the  man. 
For  in  his  Advancement  of  Learning^  First  Book,  he  men- 
tions his  example  in  this  regard  as  one  of  those  through 
whose  penetration  learning  may  "  minister  to  a  mind  dis- 
eased ": 

"  And  for  those  particular  seducements  or  indispositions 
of  the  mind  for  policy  and  government,  which  learning  is 
pretended  to  insinuate  ;  if  it  be  granted  that  any  such 
thing  be,  it  must  be  remembered  withal,  that  learning 
ministereth  in  every  of  them  greater  strength  of  medicine 
or  remedy,  than  it  offereth  of  indisposition  or  infirmity. 
.  .  .  And  these  medicines  it  conveyeth  into  men's  minds 
much  more  forcibly  by  the  quickness  and  penetration  of 
examples.  For  let  a  man  look  into  the  errors  of  Clement 
the  Seventh,  so  lively  described  by  Guicciardine,  who 
served  under  him,  or  into  the  errors  of  Cicero,  painted 
out  by  his  own  pencil  in  his  epistles  to  Atticus,  and  he 
ivilljly  apace  from  being  irresohUe." 

And  in  the  play,  though  a  less  consummate  artist  might 
have  omitted  him  altogether,  in  accord  with  the  strict  rules 
of  dramatic  construction,  he  has  thrown  Cicero  into  prom- 
inence, though  merely  as  a  "  looker  on,"  highly  interested  ; 

"  and  Cicero 
Looks  with  such  ferret  and  such  fiery  eyes, 
As  we  have  seen  him  in  the  Capitol, 
Being  cross'd  in  conference  by  some  senators  "; 

but  nevertheless  taking  no  part  whatever  in  the  action. 
Though  we  may  rest  assured  that  his  portrayal  contrib- 
utes to  the  development  of  the  central  theme. 

Regarding  Cicero's  On  Divination,  it  may  be  noted 
that  his  treatment  of  divination  by  the  observation  of  the 
flight  of  birds,  "  once  considered  of  so  much  consequence 
in    military  expeditions,"   and   his   early   argument   that 


AND    HIS    SIIAKESrEARE.  201 

"  every  other  pliilosoplier,  cxcejd  JiJpicvrus,  who  talks  so 
childishly  about  the  nature  of  the  gods,  has  sanctioned  a 
belief  in  divination,"  throw  light  upon  Cassius'  utterance 
in  Act  v.,  scene  1.  (See  (inte,  page  159.)  But  the  fol- 
lowing brief  extract  from  his  concluding  argument,  where 
he  evidently  "  knows  "  that  he  is  right,  is  especially  sig- 
nificant, embodying  the  essence  of  his  philosophy,  even  as 
it  is  developed  in  the  play. 

"  But  you  will  say  that  in  the  entrails  of  the  fat  bull 
Cffisar  offered,  there  was  no  heart,  and  since  it  was  not 
possible  that  this  animal  could  have  lived  without  a  heart, 
we  must  suppose  that  the  heart  was  annihilated  at  the 
instant  of  immolation.  How  is  it  that  you  think  it  im- 
possible that  its  heart  could  vanish  so  suddenly,  nobody 
knows  whither  ?  For  myself,  I  know  not  how  much  vigor 
in  a  heart  is  necessary  to  carry  on  the  vital  function,  and 
suspect  that  if  afflicted  by  any  disease,  the  heart  of  a  vic- 
tim may  be  found  so  withered,  and  wasted,  and  small  as 
to  be  quite  unlike  a  heart.  But  on  what  argument  can 
you  build  an  opinion  that  the  heart  of  this  same  fat  bul- 
lock, if  it  existed  in  him  before,  disappeared  at  the  instant 
of  immolation  ?  Did  the  bullock  behold  Caesar  in  a  heart- 
less condition  even  while  arrayed  in  the  purple,  and  thus 
lose  its  own  heart  by  mere  force  of  sympathy  ?  ...  It 
was  announced  to  the  senate  that  it  had  rained  blood, 
that  the  river  had  become  blackened  with  blood,  and 
that  the  statues  of  the  immortal  gods  were  covered  with 
sweat.  Do  you  imagine  that  Thales  or  Anaxagoras,  or 
any  other  natural  philosopher,  would  have  given  cre- 
dence to  such  news  ?  Blood  and  sweat  only  proceed  from 
the  animal  body ;  there  might  have  been  some  discolora- 
tion caused  by  some  contagion  of  earth  very  like  blood, 
and  some  moisture  may  have  fallen  on  the  statues  from 
without,  resembling  perspiration,  as  we  see  sometimes  in 
plaster  during  the  prevalence  of  a  south  wind  ;  .  .  .  Are 
we,  then,  alarmed  if  at  any  time  any  unnatural  produc- 
tions are   reported   as   having   proceeded   from    man   or 


202  FRANCIS   BACOM 

beast?  Any  one  of  wliicli  occurrences,  to  be  brief,  may 
be  accounted  for  on  one  principle.  Whatever  is  born,  of 
whatever  kind  it  may  be,  must  have  some  cause  in  natvt'e, 
so  that  even  though  it  may  be  contrary  to  custom,  it  can- 
not possibly  be  contrary  to  nature.  Investigate,  if  you 
can,  the  natural  cause  of  every  novel  and  extraordinary 
circumstance :  even  if  you  cannot  discover  the  cause,  still 
you  may  feel  sure  that  nothing  can  have  taken  place  with- 
out a  cause ;  and,  by  the  principles  of  nature,  drive  away 
that  terror  which  the  novelty  of  the  thing  may  have  occa- 
sioned you.  Then  neither  earthquakes,  nor  thunder- 
storms, nor  showers  of  blood  and  stones,  nor  shooting- 
stars,  nor  glancing  torches  will  alarm  you  any  more." 

Bacon  must  have  written  the  play  with  Cicero's  On 
Divination  at  his  hand ;  for  he  has  condensed  the  whole 
substance  and  spirit  of  the  foregoing  powerful  reasoning 
into  a  single  line,  making  it  the  point  of  Casca's  reproach- 
ful fling  at  Cicero  in  the  next  scene, 

Casca,  we  are  informed,  had  been  a  boy  of  "  quick 
mettle,"  of  "  that  temperament  which  is  susceptible  of  high 
excitement."  (Webster.)  Through  what  chilling  experi- 
ences he  had  passed  we  know  not,  but  in  manhood,  as 
developed  in  Scene  2,  he  has  evidently  become  callous, 
hard-crusted,  and  imperturbable,  even  under  the  excite- 
ment of  the  most  momentous  events.  He  is  "  a  blunt 
fellow,"  of  good  wit,  but  rude,  cynical,  and  of  "tardy 
form,"  careless  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  others, 
even  scornful  of  their  infirmities,  and  keenly  observant  of 
the  worst  side  of  everything, — a  sharp,  bold,  unmagnani- 
mous,  forceful  man. 

But  in  the  next  scene,  a  metamorphosis  has  apparently 
taken  place,  and  Casca  is  so  completely  transformed  that 
we  recognize  him  only  by  name.  His  Religion  is  super- 
stition, and  it  is  the  touch  of  what  he  regards  as  the 
supernatural  that  has  wrought  the  marvelous  change.  He 
is  now  the  creature  of  excitement,  pale,  breathless,  star- 


AND    IIIS    SriAKEftPEARE,  208 

ing.  He  haf?  "  put  on  fear  "  and  is  "  cast  in  wonder." 
His  imagination,  highly  wrought,  wholly  dominates  the 
man.  Soaring  aloft,  it  views  the  sway  of  earth,  rides  upon 
the  wind,  and  crests  the  mountain  wave,  in  its  exalted 
flight.  Meeting  Cicero,  in  answer  to  his  questiimings,  he 
says  : 

''  Are  you  not  moved,  when  all  the  sway  of  earth 
Shakes  like  a  thing  unfirni  ?     O  Cicero, 
I  liave  seen  tempests,  when  the  scolding  winds 
Have  rived  the  knotty  oaks ;  and  I  have  seen 
The  ambitious  ocean  swell,  and  rage,  and  foam. 
To  be  exalted  with  the  threatening  clouds : 
But  never  till  to-night,  never  till  now, 
Did  I  go  through  a  tempest  dropping  fire. 
Either  there  is  a  civil  strife  in  heaven  ; 
Or  else  the  world,  too  saucy  with  the  gods. 
Incenses  them  to  send  destruction." 

Cicero,  whose  imagination  is  thoroughly  subject  to  his 
reason,  evidently  discerning  in  all  this  nothing  but  the 
operation  of  natural  causes,  coolly  asks : 

"Why,  saw  you  anything  more  wonderful?"* 

Casca  then  narrates  the  prodigies  mentioned  by  Plu- 
tarch : 

"  A  common  slave  (you  know  him  well  by  sight) 
Held  up  his  left  hand,  which  did  flame  and  burn, 
Like  twenty  torches  join'd  ;  and  yet  his  hand, 
Not  sensible  of  fire,  remain'd  unscorch'd. 
Besides,  (I  have  not  since  put  up  my  sword,) 
Against  the  Capitol  I  met  a  lion, 
Who  glared  upon  me,  and  went  surly  by 

* "  Therefore  a  diviner  and  interpreter  of  prodigies  being 
consulted  by  a  man  who  informed  him,  as  a  great  prodigy,  that 
he  had  discovered  in  his  house  a  serpent  coiled  around  a  bar, 
answered  very  discreetly,  that  there  was  nothing  very  wonderful 
in  this,  but  if  he  had  found  the  bar  coiled  around  the  serpent, 
this  would  have  been  a  prodigy  indeed.  By  this  reply,  he 
plainly  indicated  that  nothing  can  be  a  prodigy  which  is  con- 
sistent with  the  nature  of  things." — Cicero's  On  Divination. 


204  FRANCIS    BACON 

Without  annoying  me :  and  there  were  drawn 
Upon  a  heap  a  hundred  ghastly  women, 
Transformed  with  their  fear ;  who  swore  they  saw 
Men  all  in  fire  walk  up  and  down  the  streets. 
And,  yesterday,  the  bird  of  night  did  sit, 
Even  at  noon-day,  upon  tlie  market  place, 
Hooting  and  shrieking." 

And  then  he  gives  Cicero  the  home-thrust,  to  which 
reference  has  been  made : 

"  When  these  prodigies 
Do  so  conjointly  meet,  let  not  men  say, 
"•These  are  their  reasons, —  they  are  natural;^ 
For,  I  believe,  they  are  portentous  things 
Unto  the  climate  that  they  point  upon." 

Cicero,  however,  meets  the  issue  with  a  fresh  instal- 
ment of  the  same  philosophy,  likewise  embodying  the 
spirit  of  his  argument  against  the  portentous  interpreta- 
tion of  apparent  prodigies  (see  On  Divination^  Bohn's 
edition,  pp.  222-227),  and  immediately  turns  the  con- 
versation : 

"  Indeed,  it  is  a  strange-disposed  time  : 
But  men  may  construe  things,  after  their  fashion. 
Clean  from  the  purpose  of  the  things  themselves. 
Comes  CtBsar  to  the  Capitol  to-morrow?"  * 

*  Incidentally,  we  also  learn  from  Cicero's  On  Divination 
the  philosophy  of  the   Romans  regarding  lightning,  and  can 
tbus  better  appreciate  the  "local  coloring"  in  Brutus'  words: 
"  The  exhalations,  whizzing  in  the  air. 
Give  so  much  light,  that  I  may  read  by  them." 

—Act  II.,  1. 

"  For  the  opinion  of  the  Stoics  on  this  point  is,  that  the  ex- 
halations of  the  earth,  v/hich  are  cold,  when  they  begin  to  flow 
abroad,  become  winds ;  and  when  they  form  themselves  into  clouds 
and  begin  to  divide  and  break  up  their  fine  particles  by  repeated 
and  vehement  gusts,  then  thunder  and  lightning  ensue;  and 
tliat  when  by  the  conflict  of  the  clouds  the  heat  is  squeezed  out 
so  as  to  emit  itself,  then  there  is  lightnincj.  Can  we,  then, 
look  for  any  intimation  of  futurity  in  a  thing  which  we  see 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  205 

With  the  departure  of  Cicero,  Cassius  enters  upon  the 
scene,  and  taking  advantage  of  Casca's  excited  condition, 
moulds  him  to  his  design.  He  operates  directly  upon 
Casca's  already  inflamed  imagination,  stimulating  it  to  yet 
greater  intensity,  and  turns  the  whole  power  of  his  super- 
stition against  Caesar ;  holding  him  up  as  the  very  object 
against  which  the  gods  were  incensed  to  such  manifesta- 
tions of  their  displeasure ;  and  supplementing  his  work 
with  vehement  protestations  and  the  power  of  his  own  Ex- 
ample. And  thus,  at  one  interview,  by  his  infernal  arts, 
he  converts  this  formerly  active  adherent  of  Csesar  into 
a  deadly  enemy,  pledged  to  the  conspiracy  against  him. 

Regarding  Cicero,  it  should  be  observed,  that  though 
it  is  made  strikingly  apparent  that  reason  is  paramount 
in  his  mental  constitution,  nevertheless,  his  weakness,  man- 
ifested in  his  irresolute  inactivity,  or  negative  attitude  in 
this  momentous  crisis,  is  shown  to  have  brought  upon  him 
the  inexorable  Nemesis  of  destruction.  He  is  put  to  death 
upon  the  success  of  Antony  and  Octavius,  as  is  told  in 
Act  IV.,  scene  3. 

Meanwhile,  he  is  utilized  in  the  play,  incidentally,  in 
the  representation  of  one  of  the  lighter  phases  of  Envy. 
In  his  De  Augmentls,  Eighth  Book,  Bacon  says  :  "  There 
is  added  the  envy  of  nobles,  who  are  secretly  displeased 

brought  about  by  the  mere  force  of  nature,  without  any  regu- 
larity or  any  determined  i^eriod?" — On  Divination. 

This  also  lends  additional  force  to  Gervinus'  interpretation, 
that  "  Brutus  is  born  to  be  a  Stoic,  and  practices  the  principles 
of  that  school,  which  prescribes  the  passive  use  of  life  and  en- 
joins the  power  of  endurance." 

It  is  perhaps  worthy  of  note,  that  although  in  Bacon's  time 
Cicero's  On  Divination  had  been  published  on  the  Continent, 
it  was  not  translated  into  English,  or  even  published  in  England 
in  Latin,  till  a  century  later.  (See  Ebert's  Biblioyrajihical 
Dictionary.) 


206  FKANCIS    BACON 

with  the  issue  though  fortunate  and  prosperous,  because  it 
did  not  originate  in  themselves."  This  phase  is  developed 
in  the  play,  in  Act  II.,  scene  1  : 

"  Cassms.  But  what  of  Cicero  ?     Shall  we  sound  him  ? 

I  think  he  will  stand  very  strong  with  us. 

Casca.  Let  us  not  leave  him  out. 

Cinna.  No,  by  no  means. 

Metellus.  O  let  us  have  him ;  for  his  silver  hairs 

Will  purchase  us  a  good  opinion, 

And  buy  men's  voices  to  commend  our  deeds : 

It  shall  be  said  his  judgment  ruled  our  hands ; 

Our  youths,  and  wildness,  shall  no  whit  appear, 

But  all  be  buried  in  his  gravity. 

Brutus.  0,  name  him  not ;  let  us  not  break  with  him ; 

For  he  will  never  follow  anything 

That  other  men  begin. 

Cassius.  Then  leave  him  out. 

Casca.  Indeed  he  is  not  fit." 

And  in  this  connection,  we  may  note  the  portrayal  of 
still  another  phase  of  Envy,  or  rather  of  a  marked  indi- 
cation of  its  absence  in  Brutus.  In  his  Essay,  Bacon 
profoundly  observes :  "  Those  that  have  joined  with  their 
honor  great  travels,  cares,  or  perils,  are  less  subject  to 
envy.  For  men  think  that  they  earn  their  honors  hardly, 
and  pity  them  sometimes ;  and  p^iy  ever  healeth  envij.'' 

In  the  play,  Brutus,  striving  to  convince  Antony  of  the 
purity  of  his  intent  in  the  assassination,  makes  this  funda- 
mental principle  the  very  substance  of  his  protestation  : 

"  Though  now  we  must  appear  bloody  and  cruel. 
As,  by  our  hands  and  this  our  present  act, 
You  see  we  do;  yet  see  you  but  our  hands, 
And  this  the  bleeding  business  they  have  done : 
Our  hearts  you  see  not,  they  ave pitiful; 
And  2^ity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Rome 
(As  fire  drives  out  fire,  so  pity,  pity)  * 
Hath  done  this  deed  on  Caesar." 

*  A  peculiar  philosophy  : 

''  One  fire  drives  out  one  fire;  one  nail,  one  nail; 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  207 

But  advancing  a  step,  let  us  study  more  closely  the 
methods  whereby  Bacon  was  enabled  to  give  to  the  theme 
of  the  play  the  broadest,  and  at  the  same  time,  the  most 
artistic  development. 

Mr.  Hamilton  W.  Mabie  says  of  Corot,  the  great  "  cre- 
ative "  landscape  painter : 

"  I  have  read  somewhere  that  Corot  was  in  the  habit 
of  going  into  the  fields  at  the  earliest  dawn  ;  and  there, 
pipe  in  hand,  in  the  silence  of  the  creative  hour  he  watched 
the  birth  of  the  day.  These  morning  vigils  held  the  se- 
cret of  his  marvelous  interpretation  of  the  most  spiritual 
and  poetic  of  all  the  material  processes.  Aurora  touched 
his  pencil ;  and  who  can  look  on  these  morning  skies,  so 
divinely  transparent  in  revelation,  without  the  sudden  rush 
of  adoration !  " 

With  our  eyes  opened  by  this  touch  of  the  critic,  we 
look  upon  one  of  Corot's  pictures  with  new  appreciation 
and  a  before  unfelt  delight.  We  discern,  in  every  stroke, 
an  expression  and  revelation  of  the  joyousness  that  per- 
vades all  nature  in  this  creative  hour,  "  the  birth  of  the 

Rights  by  rights  fouler,  strengths  by  strengths  do  fail." 

— Coriolamis,  11^.,  7. 

"  Even  as  one  heat  another  heat  expels, 
Or  as  one  nail  by  strength  drives  out  another." 

— Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  II.,  ^. 

"  Neither  does  all  heat  cherish  heat,  for  when  two  heats  dif- 
fer many  degrees  from  one  another,  either  kills  and  destroys 
the  other  no  less  than  cold ;  one  having  its  proper  actions,  and 
thwarting  and  opposing  the  actions  of  the  other ;  so  that 
Telesius  makes  lesser  heats  to  be  as  traitors  and  deserters  to- 
wards great  ones,  and  as  conspiring  with  cold.  Therefore  the 
feeble  heat  which  creeps  in  water  destroys  the  lively  heat  which 
vibrates  in  fire ;  and  in  like  manner  the  preternatural  heat  of 
putrid  humors  in  the  human  body  suffocates  and  extinguishes 
the  natural  heat." — On  Principles  and  Origins. 

"  Clavum  clavo  pellere  "  [To  drive  out  a  nail  with  a  nail.] — 
Promus  of  Forrnularies  and  Elegancies. 


208  FRANCIS    BACON 

day."  This  is  manifested  not  only  in  the  glowing  light 
that  gladdens  the  morn,  and  in  the  physical  atmosphere, 
which  is  made  so  perceptible,  but  in  what  is  sometimes 
termed  the  subtler,  artistic  "  atmosphere  "  of  the  piece. 
Thus  in  one  picture,  the  dancing  nymphs  are  there  sport- 
ing in  the  grove,  and  in  another,  Orpheus  is  attendant 
with  his  lyre ;  to  give  collateral,  contributory  expression 
to  the  joyousness  which  is  the  central  theme  ;  and  thus 
every  detail  contributes  essentially  to  its  unfolding  devel- 
opment. 

This  illustration  from  a  kindred  Art  enables  us  to  better 
appreciate  the  like  consummate  art  here  displayed  by  the 
Dramatist.  Moreover,  we  have  abundant  evidence,  at- 
tendant upon  every  detail  of  the  work,  that  this  was  the 
fruitage  of  the  like  close,  attentive  study  of  his  theme, 
both  directly  and  in  its  collateral  manifestations.  And 
through  a  corresponding  study  of  his  work  in  this  light, 
we  may  perhaps  attain,  in  the  end,  to  a  better  compre- 
hension both  of  his  methods  and  of  the  sources  of  his  power. 

And  first,  we  note  that  it  was  preeminently  character- 
istic of  Bacon  to  view  things  in  their  entirety  ;  compre- 
hending a  vast  body  of  intricate  relations,  which  ofttimes 
wholly  escape  our  observation,  but  which  were  to  his  vision 
luminous  with  the  radiance  from  a  central  unity. 

Thus,  in  dealing  with  Envy,  he  observes,  among  other 
things,  its  remarkable  power  "  to  fascinate  or  bewitch." 
This  opens  up  the  whole  subject  of  Fascination  in  general ; 
and  in  its  discussion,  he  grasps  the  fundamental  fact  that 
it  is  essentially  "  the  power  or  act  of  Imagination  inten- 
sive upon  the  body  of  another."  But  instantly,  under  the 
flash  of  this  light,  whole  congeries  of  cognate  matters  enter 
the  field  of  his  vision.  Note  a  few  of  them,  stated  in  the 
succeeding  sentence : 

"Others  that  draw  nearer  to  probability,  looking 'with 
a  clearer  eye  at  the  secret  workings  and  impressions  of 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  209 

thinf]fs,  the  irradiations  of  the  senses,  the  passa^^e  of  cou- 
tagiou  from  body  to  body,  the  conveyanee  of  magnetic 
virtues,  have  concluded  that  it  is  much  more  probable 
there  should  be  impressions,  conveyances,  and  communi- 
cations from  spirit  to  spirit  (seeing  that  the  spirit  is  above 
all  other  things  both  strenuous  to  act  and  soft  and  tender 
to  be  acted  on)  ;  whence  have  arisen  those  conceits  (now 
become  as  it  were  popular}  of  the  mastering  spirit,  of  men 
unlucky  and  ill-omened,  of  the  glances  of  love,  envy,  and 
the  like." 

Moreover,  he  devotes  the  whole  of  Century  X.  of  his 
Natural  History  to  the  exploration  of  these  occult,  but 
closely  allied  relations  ;  treating  successively,  as  indexed  : 

"  Of  the  Transmission  and  Influx  of  Immateriate  Vir- 
tues, and  the  force  of  Imagination." 

"Of  the  Emission  of  Spirits  in  Vapor,  or  Exhalation, 
Odor-like." 

'•  Of  Emissions  of  Spiritual  Species  which  affect  the 
senses." 

"  Of  Emission  of  Immateriate  Virtues  from  the  Minds 
and  Spirits  of  Men,  by  Affections,  Imagination,  or  other 
Impressions." 

"  Oi  the  Secret  Virtue  of  Sympathy  and  Antipathy." 

"  Of  Secret  Virtues  and  Proprieties." 

"  Of  the  General  Sympathy  of  Men's  Spirits." 

Through  his  laborious  mastery  of  the  resources  of  this 
inner,  occult  world,  and  by  their  happy  utilization  in  the 
play,  Bacon  was  enabled  to  give  his  theme  the  amplest, 
most  artistic  representation,  in  almost  its  entirety ;  giving 
it  embodiment  in  an  organic  structure,  complete  in  itself, 
having  a  natural  environment  appropriate  to  its  theme, 
and  an  "  atmosphere  "  luminous  with  its  rays.  Indeed, 
one  must  read  the  play  with  this  Century  of  Bacon's  Xat- 
ural  History  at  hand,  and  with  eyes  opened  to  the  dis- 
cernment of  the  subtle  relations  binding  together  its  mass 
of  ftp]iarently  heterogeneous  particulars,  in  what  he  termed 


210  FRANCIS    BACON 

their  "  secret  order,"  if  he  would  thoroughly  comprehend 
the  unity,  the  variety,  and  the  exquisite  fitness  of  the  •'  col- 
oring- "  given  the  details  of  the  play,  contributory  to  the 
"  concentrated  manifestation  "  of  its  central  theme. 

It  is  needless  to  remind  the  reader  of  the  direct  utiliza- 
tion of  these  resources  in  the  development  of  Cassius'  work 
upon  Brutus,  unfolded  in  the  preceding  chapter.  But  re- 
garding the  introduction  into  that  scene  of  Casoa's  detailed 
account  of  the  baleful  effect  upon  Caesar  of  the  foul  air, 
poisoned  by  the  emanations  from  the  rabblement, — as  they 
"  shouted,  and  clapped  their  chapped  hands,  and  threw  up 
their  sweaty  night-caps,  and  uttered  such  a  deal  of  stink- 
ing breath,"  that  even  Casca  "durst  not  laugh,  for  fear 
of  opening  his  lips  and  receiving  the  bad  air,"  and  when 
Caesar  "  swooned  and  fell  down  at  it  ": — and  considerins- 
this  in  connection  with  Bacon's  observations,  out  of  which 
it  is  developed  (see  ante^  page  163,  note),  wherein  he  ob- 
serves that  these  pernicious  effects  are  worked  by  "  such 
airs  as  have  some  similitude  with  man's  body ;  and  so  i/?.sm- 
tidte  themselves  and  hetraij  the  spirits'''' \  and  that  the  cause  of 
the  falling  sickness  "  is  the  grossness  of  the  vapors  which 
rise  and  enter  into  the  cells  of  the  brain  "; —  it  is  worthy 
of  remark  that  these  observations  are  recorded  in  this 
Century  of  his  JVatural  History,  under  the  heads  respect- 
ively of  "  Experiments  in  consort  touching  emission  of 
spirits  in  vapor  or  exhalation,  odor-like,"  and  "  Exper- 
iments in  consort  touching  the  secret  virtue  of  sympathy 
and  antipathy  ";  all  under  the  general  head  of  "  Experi- 
ments  in  consort  touching  transmission  and  in/lux  ofim- 
materiate  virtues,  and  the  force  of  imagination^  And 
with  our  knowledge  of  his  mental  grasp  of  the  analogous 
relations,  binding  this  great  variety  of  agencies  into  the 
unity  of  a  complex  entirety,  may  we  not  discern,  in  this 
incidental  portrayal,  in  the  context  of  the  play,  of  one  of 
these  analogies  in  nature,  the  designed  creation  of  an  ex- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  211 

quisitely  harinonious  environment,  contributing  its  moiety 
towards  the  complete  manifestation  of  the  noxious  influ- 
ence, so  deadly  to  Caesar,  which  Cassius  is  then  exerting 
upon  Brutus  ;  insinuating  into  his  soul  the  subtlest  poison, 
and  paralyzing,  or  at  least,  beclouding  his  reason, — which 
is  the  dominant  interest  in  the  scene  ? 

Just  as,  conversely,  he  employs  the  like  analogy,  in  the 
portrayal  of  the  dissolution  of  the  "enchantment "  wrought 
by  Prospero  on  his  visitors,  in  The  TemfpeU  ;  condensing 
it  into  a  metaphor,  in  the  beautiful  lines : 

"  The  charm  dissolves  apace  ; 
And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant /wmes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason." 

And  it  may  be  there  is  the  same  breadth  of  artistic 
treatment  displayed  in  the  succeeding  Act,  in  the  words 
of  Portia  addressed  to  Brutus,  immediately  following  the 
early  morning  visit  of  the  conspirators  at  his  house : 

"Is  Brutus  sick?  and  is  it  physical 
To  walk  unbraced,  and  suck  up  the  humors 
Of  the  dank  morning  ?     What,  is  Brutus  sick  ; 
And  will  he  steal  out  of  his  wholesome  bed, 
To  dare  the  vile  contagion  of  the  night, 
And  tempt  the  rheumy  and  unpurged  air, 
To  add  unto  his  sickness?     No,  my  Brutus ; 
You  have  some  sick  offense  within  your  mind, 
Which  by  the  right  and  virtue  of  my  place, 

I  ought  to  know  of 

Why  are  you  heavy ;  and  what  men  to-night 
Have  had  resort  to  you :  for  here  have  been 
Some  six  or  seven,  who  did  hide  their  faces 
Even  from  darkness." 

We  know  the  associations  uniting  these  matters  in 
Bacon's  mind  ;  for  in  the  same  connection  in  this  Century, 
he  treats  of  "  contagion  "  in  its  various  forms,  touching  also 
upon  the  effect  of  wholesome  and  of  "  pestilent "  airs. 


212  FRANCIS   BACON 

And  possibly,  there  is  diseernible,  in  his  introduction  of 
the  foregoing  passage,  the  purposed  impartation  of  a 
richer  coloring,  giving  a  more  intense  or  ampler  manifes- 
tation to  the  baneful  influences  operating  upon  Brutus  ; 
by  their  incidental  expression  in  one  of  nature's  subtlest 
analogies,  in  the  delicious  harmony  of  a  formless  meta- 
phor,— as  truly  existent  as  if  it  had  been  crystalized  into 
a  formal  figure  or  an  extended  simile,  and  infinitely  more 
artistic.  It  is  less  conventional ;  more  in  accord  with  the 
methods  of  expression  of  the  Supreme  Artist,  whose  mani- 
festations, voicing  formlessly  unutterable  depths  of  sig- 
nificance, are  the  originals  of  man's  similitudes,  alike  the 
pattern,  the  substance  and  the  inspiration  of  his  Art,  and 
whose  interpretative  reproduction  is  its  especial  function. 
Certainly,  it  is  well  to  know  that  even  this  higher  depart- 
ment of  poetry  has  also  its  indispensable  "  Natural  His- 
tory," its  alphabet  and  its  Primer ;  accumulated  through 
observation  and  induction,  and  by  patient  toil.  For  such 
seems  to  have  been  the  method  of  its  recognized  Master ; 
and  it  is  perhaps  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  supremacy  of 
his  work. 

Again,  in  the  same  Century,  Bacon  observes  :  "  There 
be  many  things  that  work  upon  the  spirits  of  men  by 
secret  sympathy  and  antipathy.  .  .  .  But  it  is  manifest 
that  light,  above  all  things,  excelleth  in  comforting  the 
spirits  of  men."  * 

*  "  O  weary  night,  O  long  and  tedious  night, 

Abate  thy  hours :   shine,  coviforts,  from  the  east" 

— Midsummer-Nif/hfs  Dream,  III.,  2. 
"  I  have  been  troubled  in  my  sleep  this  night. 
But  dawning  day  new  comfort  hath  inspired." 

—Tit.  And.,  II.,  2. 

"  We  '11  rest  us,  Hermia,  if  you  think  it  good, 
And  tarry  for  the  comfort  of  the  day." 

— Midsummer- Nighfs  Dream,  II.,  2. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  213 

This  subtle  influence  upon  the  spirits  of  men  is  given 
manifestation  in  the  play,  in  the  portrayal  of  the  meeting 
of  the  conspirators  at  Brutus'  house,  where,  in  the  anxious 
moment  while  they  are  awaiting  his  decision,  they  turn 
instinctively  towards  the  dawning  light,  searching  for  its 
presence,  and  finding  comfort  even  in  its  discussion : 

"  Deems.  Here  lies  the  east :  doth  not  the  day  break  here  ? 
Casca.  No. 

Cinna.  O,  pardon,  sir,  it  doth ;  and  yon  gray  lines 
That  fret  the  clouds  are  messengers  of  day. 
Casca.  You  shall  both  confess  that  you  are  deceived. 
Here,  as  I  point  my  sword,  the  sun  arises ; 
Which  is  a  great  way  growing  on  the  south, 
Weighing  the  youthful  season  of  the  year. 
Some  two  months  hence,  up  higher  toward  the  north 
He  first  presents  his  fire ;  and  the  hif/h  east  * 
Stands,  as  the  Capitol,  directly  here." 

A  truly  luminous  element  in  this  peculiar  "  atmos- 
phere "  of  occult  influences,  in  which  the  action  is  clothed 
as  in  its  own  emanations ! 

A  like  atmospheric  effect  is  produced  by  the  portrayal 
of  another  of  these  secret  influences  upon  the  spirits  of 
men.  In  the  same  Century,  Bacon  makes  the  following 
remarkable  observation : 

"  The  relations  touching  the  force  of  imagination  and 
the  secret  instincts  of  nature  are  so  uncertain,  as  they 
require  a  great  deal  of  examination  ere  we  conclude  upon 
them.  I  would  have  it  first  thoroughly  inquired,  whether 
there  be  any  secret  passages  of  sympathy  between  per- 
sons of  near  blood ;  as  parents,  children,  brothers,  sisters, 
nurse-children,  husbands,  wives,  etc.  There  be  many 
reports  in  history,  that  upon  the  death  of  persons  of  such 
nearness,  men  have  had  an  inward  feeling  of  it.  I  my- 
self remember,  that  being  in  Paris,  and  my  father  dying 
in  London,  two  or  three  days  before  my  father's  death  1 

*  "  Nay,  Cadwal,  we  must  lay  his  head  to  the  ea.st: 

My  father  hath  a  reason  for 't." — Ci/mbeline,  IV.,  2. 


214  TRANCIS    BACON 

had  a  dream,  which  I  told  to  divers  English  gentlemen, 
that  my  father's  house  in  the  country  was  plastered  all 
over  with  black  mortar." 

And  in  consonance,  in  the  play,  the  night  before  Caesar's 
death,  his  wife,  Calphurnia,  dreams  : 

"  She  dreamt  to-night  she  saw  my  statua, 
Which  like  a  fountain,  with  a  hundred  spouts, 
Did  run  pure  blood ;   and  many  lusty  Romans 
Came  smiling,  and  did  bathe  their  hands  in  it. 
And  tliese  does  she  apply  for  warnings,  and  portents, 
And  evils  imminent ;  and  on  her  knee 
Hath  begg'd  that  I  will  stay  at  home  to-day." 

And  as  if  to  emphasize  the  potency  of  these  secret  in- 
fluences, this  dream  is  given  almost  literal  fulfihuent  iu 
the  awful  scene  of  the  assassination.  In  the  frenzy  of  the 
moment,  Brutus  cries  : 

"  So  are  we  Caesar's  friends,  that  have  abridged 
His  time  of  fearing  death. —  Stoop,  Romans,  stoop, 
And  let  us  bathe  our  hands  in  Caesar's  blood 
Up  to  the  elbows,  and  besmear  our  swords." 
And  Cassius  also  cries:   "Stoop  then,  and  wash."  * 

Again,  in  his  Essay,  Of  Friendshiih  Bacon  says : 
"  With  Julius  Cfesar,  Decimus  Brutus  had  obtained  that 
interest,  as  he  set  him  down  in  his  testament  for  heir  iu 
remainder  after  his  nephew  ;  and  this  was  the  man  that 
had  power  with  him  to  draw  him  forth  to  his  death  :  for 

*  And  as  if  by  one  of  "  the  secret  instincts  of  nature,"  and  in 
a  like  contribution  towards  the  sympathetic  atmosphere  of  the 
play,  Cinna,  the  poet,  after  the  assassination,  and  the  night  be- 
fore his  death,  dreams  ominously : 

"  I  dreamt  to-night  that  I  did  feast  with  Caesar, 
And  things  unlucky  charge  my  fantasy  : 
I  have  no  will  to  wander  forth  of  doors. 
Yet  something  leads  me  forth." 
"  Before  the  days  of  change,  still  is  it  so : 
By  a  divine  instinct,  men's  minds  mistrust 
Ensuing  danger." — Richard  /"//.,  //.,  3. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  215 

when  Caesar  would  have  discharged  the  Senate,  in  regard 
of  some  ill  presages,  and  specially  a  dream  of  Calphurnia, 
this  man  lifted  him  gently  by  the  arm  out  of  his  chair, 
telling  him  he  hoped  he  would  not  dismiss  the  Senate  till 
his  wife  had  dreamt  a  better  dream  ;  and  it  seemeth  his 
favor  was  so  great,  as  Antonius,  in  a  letter  which  is  i*e- 
cited  verbatim  in  one  of  Cicero's  Philippics,  called  him 
'  tienejica^ — '  witch  ';  as  if  he  had  enchanted  Cajsar." 

And  in  this  Century,  under  the  head  of  '•'■  Experiment 
solitary  touching  the  general  sympathy  of  men's  Sjmits" 
Bacon  profoundly  observes :  "  The  delight  which  men 
have  in  popularity,  fame,  honor,  submission  and  subjection 
of  other  men's  minds,  wills,  or  affections,  (although  these 
things  may  be  desired  for  other  ends),  seemeth  to  be  a 
thing  in  itself,  without  contemplation  of  consequence, 
grateful  and  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  man.  This  thing 
(surely)  is  not  without  some  signification,  as  if  all  spirits 
and  souls  of  men  came  forth  out  of  one  divine  limbus  ; 
else  7vhy  shoukl  men  be  so  much  affected  lo'ith  that  which 
others  think  or  say  f  " 

And  in  the  like  harmony,  not  only  is  this  '  enchant- 
ment '  of  Csesar  given  representation  in  the  play,  but  in 
its  portrayal,  its  spell  is  manifestly  wrought  through  the 
operation  of  these  subtle  influences : 

"  Ccesar.  Decius,  go  tell  them  Caesar  will  not  come.* 

*  In  North's  ti'anslation  of  Plutarch,  with  which  the  English 
public  was  then  familiar,  the  Latin  name  "  Decimus  "  had  been 
Anglicized  into  "  Decius ";  and  obviously,  under  the  circum- 
stances, it  was  not  unadvisable  to  conform  in  such  details  to  the 
English  version.  The  same  remark  applies  to  "  Antonius " 
Anglicized  into  "  Antony,"  "  Octavianus  "  into  "  Octavlus,"  and 
to  the  name  "  Calphurnia,"  which  is  thus  spelled  in  Bohn's  edi- 
tion of  the  Essays,  but  is  spelled  "  Calpurnia  "  in  Spedding's 
edition.  We  can  hardly  attribute  the  adoption  of  these  names 
in  the  play  to  its  author's  ignorance  of  Latin ;  for  Cicero's 
philosophy,  so  deftly  expressed  in  the  text,  was  not  given  by 
Plutarch,  and  was  only  to  be  found  in  the  original  tongue.    If, 


216  FKANCIS    BACON 

Decins.  Most  mighty  Caesar,  let  me  know  some  cause, 
Lest  I  be  laugli'd  at  ichen  I  tell  them  so.'' 

Ciesar  then  relates  Calphurnia's  dream,  to  which  Decius 
Brutus  gives  a  favorable  interpretation,  worthy  of  Cicero's 
wit,  and  then  continues  : 

"  the  senate  have  concluded 
To  give,  this  day,  a  crown  to  mighty  Caesar. 
If  you  shall  send  them  word  you  will  not  come. 
Their  minds  may  change.    Besides  it  were  a  iiiocJc 
Ai)t  to  he  render'd,  for  some  one  to  say, 

'  Break  up  the  senate  till  another  time. 
When  Ccpsars  ivlfe  shall  vieet  with  better  dreams.'' 
If  Caesar  hide  himself,  shall  they  not  whisper 

'  Lo,  Ccesar  is  afraid  ? ' 
Pardon  me,  Caesar :   for  my  dear,  dear  looe 
To  your  proceeding  bids  me  tell  you  this ; 
And  reason  to  imj  love  is  liable. 

Ccesar.  How  foolish  do  your  fears  seem  noAV,  Calphurnia! 
I  am  ashamed  I  did  yield  to  them.  — 
Give  me  my  robe,  for  I  will  go;  —  " 

And  it  is  noticeable  that  previously,  at  the  meeting  of 
the  conspirators,  when  doubt  is  expressed, 

"  Whether  Caesar  will  come  forth  to-day  or  no : " 

Decius  displays  absolute  "  confidence  "  in  himself  and  his 
powers,  itself  a  power  (see  ante^  page  187),  and  reveals, 
in  part,  the  subtle  foi-ces,  through  whose  '  witchery  '  he 
sways  Csesar's  powerful  will : 

"  Never  fear  that :   if  he  be  so  resolved. 
I  can  o'ersway  him :   for  he  loves  to  hear 
That  unicorns  may  be  betray 'd  with  trees, 
And  bears  with  glasses,  elephants  witli  holes, 
Lions  with  toils,  and  men  with  flatterers: 
But  when  I  tell  him  he  hates  flatterers. 
He  says  he  does ;  being  then  most  flatter'd. 
Let  me  work : 

however,  it  be  regarded  as  a  careless  blunder,  see  ante,  page 
135,  note. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  217 

For  I  can  give  his  humor  the  true  hent ; 
And  I  will  bring  him  to  the  Capitol." 

Again,  in  Act  V.,  Scene  1,  there  is  portrayed  a  brief 
but  striking  episode : 

"  YEnter  a  messenger.^ 
3Iessala.  Prepare  you,  generals  ; 

The  enemy  comes  on  in  gallant  show ; 
Their  bloody  sign  of  battle  is  hung  out, 
And  something  to  be  done  immediately. 
Antony.  Octavius,  lead  your  battle  softly  on, 
Upon  the  left  hand  of  the  even  field. 
Octac'ms.  Upon  the  right  hand  I ;  keep  thou  the  left. 
Antony.  Why  do  you  cross  me  in  this  exigent? 
Octavius.  I  do  not  cross  you ;   but  I  tvill  do  so.  [March.'' 

At  first,  we  may  fail  to  see  the  reason  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  this  contest  of  will  between  the  equal  Triumvirs, 
in  which  Octavius  so  summarily  crushes  Antony,  or  its 
bearing  upon  the  theme  of  the  play  ;  but  it  was  evidently 
a  purposed  touch,  giving  further  development  to  its  dis- 
tinctive atmosphere. 

In  the  same  Century,  under  the  head  of  '•'■Experiments 
ill  consort  touching  emission  of  bnmateriatc  virtues  from 
the  minds  and  spirits  of  men,  either  hy  afcctio/is,  or  by 
i^ncKjindtions.,  or  hy  other  hnpressionsl^''  Bacon  observes : 
"  There  was  an  Egyptian  soothsayer,  that  made  Antonius 
believe  that  his  Genius  *  (which  otherwise  was  brave  and 
confident)  was,  in  the  presence  of  Octavianus  Cfesar,  poor 
and  cowardly  :  therefore  he  advised  him  to  absent  himself 
as  much  as  he  could,  and  remove  far  froni  him.  This 
soothsayer  was  thought  to  be  suborned  by  Cleoi)atra,  to 
make  him  live  in  Egypt,  and  other  remote  places  from 
Home.    Howsoever  the  conceit  of  a  predominant  or  mas- 

*  "  The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council ;"  — //.,  1. 

"  There  is  none  out  he 
Whose  being  I  do  fear :  and  under  him 
My  Genius  is  rebuked ;  as,  it  is  said, 
Mark  Antony's  was  by  Caesar." — Macbeth  III.,  1. 


218  FRANCIS    BACON 

ter'ing  spirit  of  one  man  over  another  is  ancient,  and  re- 
ceived still,  in  vulgar  opinion."  * 

In  the  play,  in  Mark  Antony's  case,  this  is  merely  shad- 
owed forth  in  the  significance  of  the  foregoing  brief  epi- 
sode;  in  conformity  with  the  artistic  requirement  of  a 
due  proportion  between  the  several  parts.  But  this  slight 
touch  was  here  sufficient  for  atmospheric  effect :  for  the 

*  This  may  be  supplemented  with  Bacon's  remark,  already 
(juoted :  "  Whence  have  arisen  those  conceits  (now  become  as 
it  were  popular)  of  the  mastering  spirit,  of  men  unlnchj  and 
ill-omened,  of  the  glances  of  love,  envy,  and  the  like."  And 
the  whole  is  given  complete  representation  in  Anton])  and  Cleo- 
patra^ II.,  3: 

"Anto7ii/.  Say  to  me, 
Whose  fortunes  shall  rise  higher,  Caesar's  or  mme? 
Soothsayer.  Csesar's. 

Therefore,  O  Antony,  stay  not  by  his  side : 
Thy  daemon  (that  thy  spivli  which  keeps  thee)  is 
Noble,  courageous,  higli,  unniatchable, 
Where  Caesar  is  not ;  but  near  him  thy  angel 
Becomes  a  Fear,  as  being  o'erpowered ;  therefore 
Make  space  enough  between  you. 
Ayitony.  Speak  this  no  more. 

Soothsayer.  To  none  but  thee ;  no  more,  but  when  to  thee. 
If  thou  dost  play  with  him  at  any  game, 
Thou  art  sure  to  lose ;  and,  of  that  natural  luck. 
He  beats  thee  'gainst  the  odds ;  thy  lustre  thickens 
Wlien  iie  shines  by:  I  say  again,  thy  spirit 
Is  all  afraid  to  govern  thee  near  him ; 
But,  he  away,  'tis  noble. 
Antony.  Get  thee  gone: 

Say  to  Ventidius,  I  would  speak  with  him : 

\^Exit  Soothsayer. 
He  shall  to  Partia. —  Be  it  art,  or  liap, 
He  hath  spoken  true :   the  very  dice  obey  him  : 
And  in  our  sports  my  better  cunning  faints 
Under  his  chance :  if  we  draw  lots,  he  speeds : 
His  cocks  do  win  the  battle  still  of  mine. 
When  it  is  all  to  nought ;  and  his  quails  ever 
Beat  mine,  inhoop'd,  at  odds.      1  will  to  Egypt." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  219 

distinctive  workings  of  this  "  predominant  or  mastering 
spirit  of  one  man  over  another  "  are  given  abundant  man- 
ifestation in  the  play,  in  unmistakable  strokes,  in  the  por- 
trayal of  Brutus  himself.  Thus,  in  the  delineation  of  the 
meeting  of  the  conspirators  at  Brutus'  house,  when  some 
of  them  propose  that  Cicero's  adhesion  be  procured,  note 
how  distinctly  it  is  made  apparent  that  they  succumb,  at 
the  instant,  to  Brutus'  determination  to  the  contrary.  (See 
ante^  page  206.) 

And  again,  when  Cassius  forcibly  urges  the  death  of 
Antony,  pointing  out  its  necessity,  Brutus'  opposing  will 
is  dominant,  and  Antony  is  spared,  to  their  ruin.  And 
when  Antony  requests  permission  to  speak  at  Caesar's  fu- 
neral, notwithstanding  the  strenuous  opposition  of  Cas- 
sius,— 

"  You  know  not  what  you  do  ;  do  not  consent," — 

the  headstrong  Brutus  maintains  his  masterful  sway,  and 
the  fateful  blunder  is  committed.  And  the  like  occurs 
when  Cassius,  with  better  generalship,  opposes  the  for- 
ward march  to  meet  the  enemy,  but  is  compelled  to  yield  : 
"  Then,  with  your  will,  go  on : 
We  '11  along  ourselves,  and  meet  them  at  Philippi." 

Always  and  everywhere,  in  any  conflict,  Brutus'  will  pre- 
vails :  while  the  masterful  sway  of  one  man's  spirit  over 
another  is  given  marked  exemplification  in  his  case,  in 
the  episode  of  Ligarius'  visit ;  of  whom  Brutus  had  de- 
clared, 

"He  loot's  me  well,  and  I  have  given  him  reasons; 
Send  him  but  hither,  and  I'll  fashion  him," 

in  a  confidence  amply  justified  in  the  event : 

"  Ligarins.  By  all  the  gods  that  Romans  bow  before, 
I  here  discard  my  sickness !      Soul  of  Rome  ! 
Brave  son,  derived  from  honorable  loins ! 
Thou,  like  an  exorcist,  hast  conjured  up 
My  mortified  spirit.     Now  bid  me  run, 
And  I  will  strive  with  things  impossible; 


220  FRANCIS    BACON 

Yea,  get  the  better  of  them.     What's  to  do? 

Brutus.  A  piece  of  work  that  will  make  sick  men  whole. 

Ligarius.  But  are  not  some  whole  that  we  must  make  sick  ? 

Brutus.  That  must  we  also.     What  it  is,  my  Caius, 

I  shall  unfold  to  thee,  as  we  are  going ; 

To  whom  it  must  be  done. 

Ligarius.  Set  on  your  foot; 

And,  with  a  heart  new  fired,  I  follow  you, 

To  do  I  know  not  what :  but  it  sufficeth 

That  Brutus  leads  me  on." 

And  again,  the  "  no  small  dominion  which  imagination 
holds  in  persuasions  wrought  by  eloquence,"  effected  "  Ijy 
stimulating  the  imagination  till  it  becomes  ungovernable 
and  not  only  sets  reason  at  nought,  but  offers  violence  to 
it,  partly  by  blinding,  and  partly  by  incensing  it,"  is  given 
the  most  striking  manifestation,  in  the  portrayal  of  the 
effect  produced  upon  the  Roman  citizens  by  Antony's  pow- 
erful eloquence.  Under  its  potent  influence,  they  are 
wrought  to  a  pitch  of  ungovernable  fury.     They  cry : 

"  Revenge !  About ! — seek ! — burn ! — fire ! — kill ! —  slay  ! — 
let  not  a  traitor  live !  " 

Reason  is  dethroned,  and  in  their  rage,  they  tear  to  pieces 
the  poet  Cinna,  merely  because  he  bears  the  name  of  one 
of  the  conspirators  ;  while  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  the  rest, 
are  compelled  to  flee  the  city  to  escape  the  storm. 

The  play  of  Julius  Ccesaria  a  two-fold  tragedy,  whose 
connnon  (jore  is  a  Crime.  Its  outward,  tangible  trage<ly 
is  the  murder  of  Caesar :  its  inner,  spiritual  tragedy  is 
the  shipwreck  of  Brutus'  noble  soul.  The  two  are  given 
complete  representation,  the  one  witlun  the  other,  in  a 
grandeur  of  conception  and  execution  that  is  one  of  the 
sublimities  which  attend  the  heights  of  man's  creative 
power.  It  is  the  embodiment  of  the  intangibh;  within  the 
tangible,  of  the  spiritual  in  the  material,  of  a  soul  within 
a  body.    The  spiritual  tragedy,  as  in  life,  is  of  parauiuuiit 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  221 

interest,  and  all  things  are  made  to  work  together  towards 
its  adequate  expression.  Its  primal  elements  are  the  in- 
visible forces,  "  that  work  upon  the  spirits  of  men  ";  and 
these  are  so  inwrought  into  the  action,  and  given  such  tan- 
gible manifestation  in  things  visible,  that  we  are  actually 
brought  within  their  realm,  and  made  to  feel  their  power. 
Though,  as  in  nature,  we  can  only  comprehend  their  under- 
lying principles,  or  "  mode  of  operation,"  through  the 
closest  study  of  their  manifestations  ;  wherein  also  the 
play  is  fashioned  "  after  the  model  of  the  world,"  and  upon 
the  pattern  of  the  Highest  Art. 

The  mightiest  forces  are  ever  the  subtlest ;  both  in  nat- 
ure in  general,  and  in  their  action  upon  man.  This  is 
equally  true  in  Art.  And  these  apparently  casual,  unre- 
lated manifestations,  we  have  been  considering,  are  in 
reality  integral  developments  of  that  invisible  world  en- 
shrined in  the  play,  whose  consistent  portrayal  is  a  prin- 
cipal source  of  its  subtle  charm.  They  are  strains  from 
out  of  that  world,  consonant  with  the  dominant  tones ; 
blending  with  them  into  rich  chords,  which  contribute  ma- 
terially towards  that  magnificent  harmony,  which  in  its 
total  effect  so  delights  us,  though  we  may  be  unconscious 
of  the  cause.  It  is  the  harmony  inherent  in  an  artistic 
whole,  with  every  part  expressive  of  its  theme,  in  its  com- 
plete development.  And  in  this  respect,  and  in  its  inter- 
pretative revelation  of  the  inner,  invisible  world  through 
its  outward  manifestations,  the  play  is  one  of  the  triumphs 
of  man's  creative  art. 

In  our  study  of  the  material  universe,  we  are  ever  ap- 
proaching a  clearer  apprehension  of  its  essential  unity. 
Prof.  Lodge,  the  distinguished  English  scientist,  in  his 
Modern  Vieivs  of  Electricity^  after  recounting  the  famous 
experiments  of  Dr.  Hertz,  which  demonstrate  the  identity 
of  light  and  electricity,  gives  expression  to  the  present 
attitude  of  scientific  men  in  these  beautiful  words : 


222  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  An  old  and  trite  subject  is  seen  to  have  in  the  light 
of  theory  an  unexpected  charm  and  brilliancy.  So  it  is 
with  a  great  number  of  old,  familiar  facts  at  the  present 
time.  The  present  is  an  epoch  of  astounding  activity  in 
physical  science.  Progress  is  a  thing  of  months  and  weeks, 
almost  of  days.  The  long  line  of  isolated  ripples  of  past 
discovery  seems  blending  into  a  mighty  wave,  on  the  crest 
of  which  one  begins  to  discern  some  oncoming  magnificent 
generalization.  The  suspense  is  becoming  feverish,  at 
times  almost  painful.  One  feels  like  a  boy  who  has  been 
long  strumming  on  the  silent  keyboard  of  a  deserted  or- 
gan, into  the  chest  of  which  an  unseen  power  begins  to 
blow  a  vivifying  breath.  Astonished,  he  now  finds  that 
the  touch  of  a  finger  elicits  a  responsive  note,  and  he  hes- 
itates, half  delighted,  half  affrighted,  lest  he  be  deafened 
by  the  chords  which  it  would  seem  he  can  now  summon 
forth  almost  at  will." 

We  have  tried  the  experiment  of  the  recognition  of 
Bacon's  authorship  of  the  plays.  We  have  been  working 
upon  the  hypothesis  of  the  identity  of  origin  of  his  prose 
and  of  this  poetry.  We  have  put  it  to  the  test,  in  the  di- 
rect application  of  the  thoughts,  the  observations,  and  the 
inductions  set  forth  in  that  prose  to  the  illuminative  in- 
terpretation of  the  play.  And  may  it  not  justly  be  said, 
that  this  old,  familiar  drama,  the  precious  heritage  of  three 
centuries,  is  seen  to  have,  in  the  light  of  this  "  theory," 
thus  applied,  a  depth,  a  richness,  a  power,  a  magnificence 
of  harmony  never  before  apprehended  ?  And  above  and 
beyond  all,  have  we  not  been  gaining  distinct  glimpses  of 
the  fundamental  methods  ©f  the  Master  ? 


AND   MIS   SHAKESPEARE.  22^ 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Brutus,  like  most  remarkable  men,  is  a  psychological 
study.  He  is,  however,  a  creation,  and  is  therefore  best 
studied  from  the  standpoint  of  his  author,  and  through 
the  medium  of  his  peculiar  Psychology.  This  is  briefly 
summarized  in  the  following,  from  De  Aucjment'is^  Sec- 
ond Book ;  where  it  will  be  observed  that  its  distinctive 
characteristic  is  the  exceptional  importance  attributed  to 
the  imagination,  in  its  correlation  with  reason  and  the 
will : 

"  The  doctrine  concerning  the  Intellect  (most  excellent 
King),  and  the  doctrine  concerning  the  Will  of  man,  are 
as  it  were  twins  by  birth.  For  purity  of  illumination  and 
freedom  of  will  began  and  fell  together  ;  and  nowhere  in 
the  universal  nature  of  things  is  there  so  intimate  a  sym- 
pathy as  between  truth  and  goodness.  The  more  should 
learned  men  be  ashamed,  if  in  knowledge  they  be  as  the 
winged  angels,  but  in  their  desires  as  crawling  serpents ; 
carrying  about  with  them  minds  like  a  mirror  indeed,  but 
a  mirror  polluted  and  false. 

"  I  come  now  to  the  knowledge  which  respects  the  use 
and  objects  of  the  faculties  of  the  human  soul.  It  has  two 
parts,  and  those  well  known  and  by  general  agreement 
admitted ;  namely.  Logic  and  Ethic.  .  .  .  Logic  dis- 
courses of  the  understanding  and  Reason  ;  Ethic  of  the 
Will,  Appetite,  and  Affections :  the  one  produces  deter- 
minations, the  other  actions.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the 
Imagination  performs  the  office  of  an  agent  or  messenger 
or  proctor  in  both  provinces,  both  the  judicial  and  tho 
ministerial.     For  Sense  sends  all  kinds  of  images  over 


224  FRANCIS    BACON 

to  Imagination  for  Reason  to  judge  of  ;  and  Reason  again, 
when  it  has  made  its  judgment  and  selection,  sends  tliein 
over  to  Imagination  before  the  decree  be  put  in  execution. 
For  voluntary  motion  is  ever  preceded  and  incited  by  im- 
agination :  so  that  imagination  is  as  a  common  instrument 
to  both, —  both  reason  and  will ;  saving  that  this  Janus 
of  imagination  has  two  different  faces  ;  for  the  face  toward 
reason  has  the  print  of  truth,  and  the  face  towards  action 
has  the  print  of  goodness  ;  which  nevertheless  are  faces, 

—  quales  decet  esse  sororum. 
[" — Such  as  sisters'  faces  should  be. — Ovid.  Met.  II.,  i^."] 

Neither  is  the  imagination  simply  and  only  a  messenger  ; 
but  it  is  either  invested  with  or  usurps  no  small  authority 
in  itself,  besides  the  simple  duty  of  the  message.  For  it 
was  well  said  by  Aristotle,  '  That  the  mind  has  over  the 
body  that  commandment  which  the  lord  has  over  a  bond- 
man ;  but  that  reason  has  over  the  imagination  that  com- 
mandment which  a  magistrate  has  over  a  free  citizen,'  who 
may  come  also  to  rule  in  his  turn.  For  Vv^e  see  that  in 
matters  of  faith  and  religion  our  imagination  raises  itself 
above  our  reason ;  not  that  divine  illumination  resides  in 
the  imagination  ;  its  seat  being  rather  in  the  very  citadel 
of  the  mind  and  understanding  ;  but  that  the  divine  grace 
uses  the  motions  of  the  imagination  as  an  instrument  of 
illumination,  just  as  it  uses  the  motions  of  the  v/ill  as  an 
instrument  of  virtue ;  which  is  the  reason  why  religion 
ever  sought  access  to  the  mind  by  similitudes,  types,  par- 
ables, visions,  dreams."  (Here  follows  the  statement, 
already  quoted,  of  the  dominion  exercised  by  the  imagi- 
nation when  stimulated  by  eloquence,  when  at  times  it 
"  not  only  sets  reason  at  nought,  but  offers  violence  to  it, 
partly  by  blinding  and  partly  by  incensing  it.") 

These  principles  afford  us  the  key  to  the  adequate  com- 
prehension of  Brutus  ;  enabling  us,  through  their  applica- 
tion to  his  mental  constitution,  as  it  is  developed  in  the 
play,  to  lay  hold,  upon  its  very  substance,  and  to  under- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  225 

stand  it ;  both  in  its  complex  unity,  and  in  its  distinctly 
marked  details.  And  thereby,  perhaps,  we  may  come  very 
close  to  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  Dramatist's  Art ;  how 
he  was  enabled  to  make  a  character  "  universal,"  a  repre- 
sentative type,  while  at  the  same  time,  it  is  distinctively 
an  individual  poo'trait. 

Upon  close  fitudy  of  the  "manifestations"  for  that 
which  is  manifested,  it  becomes  very  clear  that  in  Brutus 
the  imagination  is  very  ardent ;  smouldering,  indeed,  un- 
der a  reserved  exterior,  but  ever  ready  to  leap  into  flame 
upon  occasion  offered  ;  that  his  will  is  powerful ;  and  that 
his  reason  is  weak  ;  its  function  being  continually  usurped 
and  exercised  by  the  imagination.  That  his  will  is  pow- 
erful, the  reader  must  have  already  recognized ;  and  the 
rest  will,  perhaps,  become  equally  manifest. 

It  is  strikingly  significant  that  his  conclusions  are  uni- 
formly unsound,  the  product  of  his  imagination,  and  con- 
trary to  the  fact. 

Thus,  upon  his  first  introduction  to  our  acquaintance, 
and  while  he  is  talking  with  Cassius,  sounds  of  applause 
are  borne  in  upon  him,  through  his  "  Sense."  And  out 
of  these  impressions,  his  imagination  immediately  fashions 
a  scene  without,  wherein  the  people  are  heaping  honors 
upon  Caesar,  and  possibly  choosing  him  for  their  king  : 
"I  do  believe  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honors  that  are  heap'd  on  Caesar." 

"  I  do  fear  the  people 
Choose  Caesar  for  their  King." 

When,  on  the  contrary,  as  appears  from  Casca's  report, 
"  there  was  a  crown  offered  him  ;  and  being  offered  him, 
he  put  it  by  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  thus  ;  and  thoi 
the  people  fell  a  shouting  ";  "  and  at  every  putting  by, 
mine  honest  neighbors  shouted  ";  "  and  still  as  he  refused 
it,  the  rabblement  shouted,  and  clapped  their  chapped 
hands." 


226  FRANCIS  ^  BACON 

He  believes  also  in  Cassiiis ;  putting  implicit  faith  in 
his  protestations  of  love,  and  of  his  kindly  intent : 
"That  you  do  love  me,  I  am  nothing  jealous." 

When,  in  fact,  Cassias  is  utterly  unmindful  of  Brutus' 
welfare ;  seeking  only  to  mould  him  into  the  furtherance 
of  his  own  envious  ends  : 

"  Csesar  doth  bear  me  hard  :  but  he  loves  Brutus ; 
If  I  were  Brutus  now,  and  he  were  Cassius, 
He  should  not  humor  me." 

And  when,  at  his  instigation,  writings,  in  several  hands, 
are  thrown  into  Brutus'  window, 

"  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 
That  Rome  holds  of  his  name ;  wherein  obscurely 
Caesar's  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at," 

Brutus'  imagination  pieces  out  these  obscure  hints ;  pic- 
turing, in  what  is  to  him  a  vivid  reality,  all  Rome  look- 
ing to  him  for  its  redress  ;  and  thereby  awakening  in 
himself  an  impulse  that  is  irresistible : 

"  Am  I  entreated 
To  speak  and  strike  ?    O  Rome !    I  make  thee  promise, 
If  the  redress  will  follow,  thou  receivest 
Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus!  " 

When,  as  matter  of  fact,  not  only  did  these  several 
writings  proceed  from  a  single  designing  hand,  but  there 
was  absolutely  no  demand  whatever  from  the  public  for 
redress. 

"  The  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision,"  conjured  up  by 
Cassius,  existed  only  in  Brutus'  imagination.  Beautiful 
in  theory,  expressive  of  a  lofty  ideal  of  the  state,  but,  in 
the  existing  conditions,  as  chimerical  as  Plato's  republic, 
it  was  totally  at  variance  with  the  facts.  As  subsequently 
appears,  the  conspirators  were  but  the  fingers  of  one  man, 
only  eight  in  number,  and  upon  Ca3sar's  death  they  were 
compelled  by  the  angered  populace  to  flee  for  their  lives. 

Cuvier,  we  are  told,  could,  by  the  "  scientific  use  of  the 


AiSD    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  227 

iuiagination,"  reconstruct  an  extinct  animal  from  a  single 
bone.  And  Brutus,  likewise,  given  one  or  two  facts,  or 
sense  impressions,  was  wont  to  develop  therefrom  a  com- 
plete structure.  But  Cuvier's  work  was  based  upon  close 
observation  of  instance  after  instance  in  nature.  It  was 
the  outcome  of  induction  from  a  vast  accunuilation  of 
facts,  and  was,  therefore,  in  close  contact  with  the  actual 
at  every  point ;  and,  as  was  subsequently  shown,  it  was 
thoroughly  reliable.  While,  on  the  other  hand,  Brutus' 
supposed  cognizance  was  a  sort  of  hurried  "  divination  " 
from  insufficient  data,  a  "  jumped  conclusion,"  the  pro- 
duct of  his  imagination,  and  a  manifest  delusion.  Never- 
theless, it  was  to  him  as  vivid  and  as  real  as  the  actual ; 
and  as  potent  in  effecting  his  determinations. 

Indeed,  in  his  conduct  of  affairs  throughout,  and  espe- 
cially in  his  soliloquy,  Brutus  shows  himself  to  be  closely 
allied  to  the  class  whom  Bacon  aptly  termed  "  intellect- 
ualists ":  whose  methods  in  the  study  of  nature  he  so 
strongly  condemned,  and  against  whose  tendencies  he  lab- 
ored continually  to  warn  and  guard  mankind. 

The  following  is  the  passage  referred  to,  from  his  Ad- 
vancement  of  Learning,  First  Book  ;  though  there  are 
many  like  utterances,  with  much  pertinent  detail,  that 
should  all  be  read,  if  one  would  catch  Bacon's  spirit  and 
intent,  and  adequately  comprehend  the  full  amplitude  of 
his  thought,  in  its  practical  bearing  upon  "  the  whole  for- 
tunes, and  affairs,  and  powers,  and  works  of  men  ": 

"  Another  error  hath  proceeded  from  too  great  a  rev- 
erence, and  a  kind  of  adoration  of  the  mind  and  under- 
standing of  man  ;  by  means  whereof  men  have  withdrawn 
themselves  too  much  from  the  contemplation  of  nature  and 
the  observations  of  experience,  and  have  tumbled  up  and 
down  in  their  own  reason  and  conceits.  Upon  these  intcl- 
lectualints,  Heraclitus  gave  a  just  censure,  saying,  '  Men 
sought  truth  in  their  own   little  worlds,  and   not   in  the 


228  FRANCIS    BACON 

great  aud  common  world ';  for  they  disdain  to  spell,  and 
so  by  degrees  to  read  in  the  volume  of  God's  works  ;  aud 
contrariwise,  by  continual  meditation  and  agitation  of  wit 
do  urge  and  as  it  were  invocate  their  own  spirits  to  divine 
and  give  oracles  unto  them,  whereby  they  are  deservedly 
deluded." 

In  fact,  Brutus,  as  by  design,  from  his  very  constitu- 
tion, seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  noble  family  of  "  ideal- 
ists," in  the  popular  acceptation  of  the  term.     Pure  and 
unselfish,  with  Appetite  under  dominion  and  the  Affec- 
tions predominant,  a  lover  of  music  and  of  books,  and 
attuned  to  self-devotion,  he  rose  above  the  coarseness  of 
material  things  and  dwelt  largely  in  an  ideal  world,  far 
superior  to  the  actual,  aud  ofttimes  out  of  touch  with  it. 
Thus,  when  Cassius  proposes  that  the  conspirators  be 
bound  to  secrecy  by  the  sanctity  of  an  oath,  Brutus  fairly 
scorns  the  thought, — so  contrary  is  it  to  his  conception  of 
human  nature,  and  especially  of  the  Roman  character : 
"  To  think  that,  or  our  cause,  or  our  performance, 
Did  need  an  oath ;  when  every  drop  of  blood 
That  every  Roman  bears,  and  nobly  bears, 
Is  guilty  of  a  several  bastardy, 
If  he  do  break  the  smallest  particle 
Of  any  promise  that  hath  pass'd  from  him." 

And  as  usual  the  conspirators  bow  to  his  will. 

But  in  Act  II.,  Scene  3,  which  is  apparently  introduced 
solely  to  make  Brutus'  error  manifest,  Artemidorus  enters 
reading  the  following  paper  : 

"  Caesar,  beware  of  Brutus  ;  take  heed  of  Cassius ;  come  not 
near  Casca;  have  an  eye  to  Ciiina;  trust  not  Trebonius ;  mark 
well  Metellus  Cimber  ;  Decius  Brutus  loves  thee  not ;  thou  hast 
wronged  Caius  Ligarius.  There  is  but  one  mind  in  all  of  these 
men,  and  it  is  bent  against  Cajsar.  If  thou  beest  not  immortal, 
look  about  you  ;  security  gives  way  to  conspiracy.  The  mighty 
gods  defend  thee  !     Thy  lover,  Artemidorus." 

The  distinct  particularity  with  which  each  of  the  con- 
spirators is  mentioned  by  name,  in  this  declaration  of  their 


AND   HIS   SHAKESPEARE.  229 

purpose  against  Ctesar,  indicates  that  the  information  caiae 
from  "inside  sources."  But  for  the  barest  chance,  which 
pievented  its  reading,  not  Caesar  but  the  conspirators 
would  have  been  put  to  death.  And  here  again,  we  may 
discern  the  presence  and  movement  of  tliat  mysterious 
actor,  Fate,  which  is  ever  looming  up  in  the  background, 
playing  its  part  in  human  affairs. 

Again,  Brutus  is  wofully  mistaken  in  Antony.  View- 
ing him  from  his  own  lofty  standpoint,  and  observing  him 
to  be  a  voluptuary,  "  a  masker  and  a  reveller,"  "  that 
revels  long  o'  nights,"  and  is  apparently  given  over  to  the 
dominion  of  Appetite,  Brutus  is  instinctively  contempt- 
uous of  such  a  creature.  Out  of  this  insufficient  date,  he 
fashions  an  Antony  that  is  pictured  before  him,  in  vivid 
outlines,  as  a  weakling,  irresolute,  reckless,  void  of  stam- 
ina, and  unworthy  of  consideration  ;  who  is  a  mere  "  limb 
of  Caesar,"  impotent  after  the  head  is  cut  off: 
"  And  for  Mark  Antony,  think  not  of  him ; 

For  he  can  do  no  more  than  Caesar's  arm, 

When  Caesar's  head  is  off." 

Cassius  furnishes  additional  data : 

"  we  shall  find  of  him 
A  shrewd  contriver ;  and  you  know  his  means, 
If  he  improve  them,  may  well  stretch  so  far 
As  to  annoy  us  all." 

And  he  urges  as  a  further  consideration : 
"  Yet  I  do  fear  him. 
For  the  ingrafted  love  he  bears  to  Caesar,  —  " 

But  Brutus,  impatient,  interrupts  : 

"  Alas,  good  Cassius,  all  that  he  can  do 
Is  to  himself,—  take  thought,  and  die  for  Caesar : 
And  that  were  much  he  should ;  for  he  is  given 
To  sports,  to  wildness,  and  much  company." 

And  with  idealistic  practical  wisdom,  the  outcome  of  a 
kindly  heart,  which  was  also  exceedingly  sensitive  to  the 
good  opinion  of  others,  he  would  spare  Antony,  because 


230  FRANCIS   BACON 

•'  Our  course  will  seem  too  bloody,  Caius  Cassius, 
To  cut  the  head  off,  and  then  hack  the  limbs ; 
Like  wrath  in  death  and  envy  afterwards ; " 

not  realizing  that,  once  their  hands  were  imbued  in  Caesar's 
blood,  self-preservation  and  the  success  of  the  cause  made 
Antony's  death  a  political  necessity. 

Indeed,  viewed  closely,  there  is  something  inexpressi- 
bly horrible  in  this  attempt  of  a  noble  soul  to  conduct  an 
assassination  upon  ideal  principles  : 

"  Let  us  be  sacrificers,  but  not  butchers,  Caius, 
We  all  stand  up  against  the  spirit  of  Caesar ; 
And  in  the  spirit  of  men  there  is  no  blood : 
O,  that  we  then  could  come  by  CjBsav's  spirit, 
And  not  dismember  Caesar  !      But,  alas, 
Caesar  must  bleed  for  it." 

And  he  puts  De  Quincey  to  the  blush,  in  his  depiction 
of  "  Murder  as  a  Fine  Art ": 

"  And  gentle  friends, 
Let 's  kill  him  boldly,  but  not  wrathf uUy ; 
Let 's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods. 
Not  hew  him  as  a  carcase  fit  for  hounds : 
And  let  our  hearts,  as  subtle  masters  do. 
Stir  up  their  servants  to  an  act  of  rage, 
And  after  seem  to  chide  them.     This  shall  make 
Our  purpose  necessary,  and  not  envious : 
Which  so  appearing  to  the  common  eyes. 
We  shall  be  call'd  purgers,  not  murderers." 

He  does  violence  to  his  own  instincts  ;  sharing  in  Caesar's 
murder,  in 

"  The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off," 
utterly  oblivious  of  its  essential  enormity ;  when  all  the 
while  he  is  fairly  choked  with  loathing,  by  the  mere  breath 
of  the  vileness  that  is  its  native  atmosphere ;  though  he 
would  mask  it  under  the  genial  influence  of  a  gracious 

afi'ability : 

"  O  Conspiracy ! 
Sham'st  thou  to  show  thy  dangerous  brow  by  night. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  231 

When  soils  are  most  free?     O  then,  by  day 

Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 

To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage  ?   Seek  none,  Conspiracy ; 

Hide  it  in  smiles  and  affability : 

For  if  thou  put  thy  native  semblance  on, 

Not  Erebus  itself  were  dim  enough 

To  hide  thee  from  prevention." 

And  again,  at  Caesar's  assassination,  when  Antony 
comes  forward  and  shakes  the  bloody  hands  of  the  conspir- 
ators, in  pretended  friendship,  asking  that  he  be  permitted 
to  speak  at  Caesar's  funeral,  and  promising  not  to  blame 
them,  Brutus,  overruling  Cassius'  protest,  freely  consents. 
Surely,  he  may  safely  yield  to  the  prompting  of  humanity, 

"  when  every  drop  of  blood 
That  every  Roman  bears,  and  nobly  bears, 
Is  guilty  of  a  several  bastardy, 
If  he  do  break  the  smallest  particle 
Of  any  jjTomise  that  hath  pass'd  from  him." 

But  we  all  know  the  disastrous  consequences.* 

And  yet  again,  at  the  camp  near  Sardis,  when  their 
fate  is  involved  in  the  decision  of  a  vital  question  of  mil- 
itary strategy ;  one  requiring  the  exercise  of  calm,  clear 
judgment  and  the  utmost  discretion  ;  when  Cassius  ad- 

*  Brutus'  error  arose  from  his  persistent  judgment  of  others 
by  himself ;  gauging  all  by  the  high  standard  of  his  own  native 
nobility,  and  his  accustomed  honor  and  integrity.  As  Bacon 
warningly  puts  it : 

"  Let  us  consider  again  the  false  appearances  imposed  upon 
us  by  every  man's  own  individual  nature  and  custom,  in  that 
feigned  supposition  that  Plato  maketh  of  the  cave  :  for  certainly 
if  a  child  were  continued  in  a  grot  or  cave  under  the  earth  until 
maturity  of  age,  and  come  suddenly  abroad,  he  would  have 
strange  and  absurd  imaginations;  so,  in  like  manner,  although 
our  persons  live  in  view  of  heaven,  yet  our  spirits  are  included 
in  the  caves  of  our  own  complexions  and  customs ;  which  min- 
ister unto  us  infinite  errors  and  vain  opinions,  if  they  be  not 
recalled  to  examination." — Advancernent  of  Learning,  Second 
Book. 


232  FRANCIS    BACON 

vances  cogent  reasons  why  they  should  not  march  to  Phil- 
ippi,  Brutus,  as  in  Antony's  case,  meets  them  with  inferior 
reasons.  He  is  impatient  of  discussion,  refusing  to  listen 
to  Cassius,  and  waxing  warm,  his  imagination  usurps  con- 
trol ;  transforming  hope  into  certainty,  and  picturing  their 
hosts  advancing  to  assured  victory  upon  an  imaginary  tide 
whereon  they  float : 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Which  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune ; 

Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 

Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries. 

And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 

Or  lose  our  ventures." 

Cassius  bows  to  the  inevitable : 

"  Then,  with  your  will,  go  on : 
We  '11  along  ourselves,  and  meet  them  at  Philippi." 

And  well  might  Octavius  say  to  Antony : 
"  Now,  Antony,  our  hopes  are  answered," 
for  the  conspirators  advance  to  predestined  defeat  and  to 
death. 

Let  us  now  turn  directly  to  the  consideration  of  the 
tragedy  wrought  in  Brutus,  wherein  the  seed  sown  by 
Cassius  was  developed  to  a  maturity,  which  ripened  into 
such  a  terrible  harvest. 

An  ardent  patriot,  we  find  him,  in  the  beginning,  greatly 
ti-oubled  over  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Rome.  He  is  out 
of  sympathy  with  their  trend,  and  cares  not  to  "  see  the 
order  of  the  course." 

"  I  am  not  gamesome :  I  do  lack  some  part 
Of  that  quick  spirit  tliat  is  in  Antony." 

"  If  I  have  veil'd  my  look, 
I  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 
Merely  upon  myself.     Vexed  I  am, 
Of  late,  with  passions  of  some  difference. 
Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself." 
"  Nor  construe  any  further  my  neglect, 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  233 

Than  that  poor  Brutus,  with  himself  at  war, 
Forgets  the  shows  of  love  to  other  men." 

These  warring  passions  were,  undoubtedly,  his  love  of 
Cjesar  and  his  affection  for  Rome : 

"  Not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less,  but  that  I  loved  Kome 
more,"  was  the  burden  of  his  subsequent  speech  to  the 
Romans. 

As  Caesar's  devoted  lover,  his  heart  would  rejoice  at 
any  honors,  even  the  highest,  that  might  cluster  upon  him. 
But  as  a  lover  of  Rome,  he  would  not  have  him  crowned 
king.  Hence  the  turmoil  in  his  soul,  and  his  manifest 
distaste  for  the  present  proceedings,  tending  toward  that 
issue.  But  he  is  still  faithful  to  both  loves  ;  and,  as  is  inev- 
itable in  a  true  heart,  there  is  a  struggle  for  some  possi- 
ble basis  of  reconciliation,  whereby  both  loves  may  con- 
tinue their  sway.  A  truly  loyal  friend,  when  from  the 
applause  without  he  infers  that  possibly  the  feared  con- 
summation is  already  being  effected,  it  is  not  to  Ciesar, 
but  to  the  people,  that  he  imputes  the  act : 

"  I  do  fear  the  people 
Choose  Caesar  for  their  King." 

And  again,  when  renewed  applause  is  heard : 
"I  do  believe  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honors  that  are  heap'd  on  Caesar." 

Cassius,  with  malign  intent,  makes  of  this  an  opening 

wedge : 

"  Ay,  do  you  fear  it  ? 
Then  must  I  think  you  would  not  have  it  so." 

To  which  Brutus  frankly  replies : 

"  I  would  not,  Cassius  ;  yet  I  love  him  well :  —  " 

And  then  Cassius,  with  blow  after  blow,  widens  this 
"  rift  in  the  lute."  He  projects  into  Brutus'  mind,  in 
vivid  outlines,  a  distorted  image  of  Caesar,  which  rapidly 
develops  into  what  becomes  to  him  an  9,wful  reality.  His 
eyes  are  opened,  as  he  believes,  and  he  beholds  in  this 


234  FRANCIS    RACON 

man,  whom  he  has  been  loving  so  dearly,  a  monstrous,  ab- 
normal, and  ever-growing  greatness,  that  is  filling  Rome 
to  the  suppression  of  all  else : 

"  Now  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great?  " 

"  Wliy,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  nari'ow  world. 
Like  a  Colossus ;  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  j^eep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dislionorable  graves." 

"  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  god:  " 

"  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world." 

This  "  monstrous  visage,"  thus  indelibly  impressed  upon 
Brutus'  mind,  and  with  such  burning  intensity,  becomes 
thenceforward  his  mental  representation  of  Caesar,  and 
is,  in  effect,  one  of  the  realities  of  the  world  in  which  he 
dwells.  A  little  later,  we  behold  its  reflection  in  his  im- 
pulsive utterance : 

"  Shall  Rome  stand  under  one  man's  awe? 
What!      Rome?" 

Brutus'  honorable  metal,  truly,  has  been  "  wrought  from 
that  it  is  disposed  ";  for  his  whole  attitude  towards  Caesar 
has  undergone  a  radical  change.  In  one  fell  sweep,  the 
idol  has  been  thrown  from  its  pedestal,  transformed  into 
a  monster,  and  is  now  become  an  object  of  instinctive 
aversion,  rapidly  ripening  into  deadly  hostility.  His 
former  devoted  affection  for  Csesar  has  been  literally 
"  murdered,"  deadened  for  the  time  by  violence ;  while 
his  love  for  Rome  is  become  a  consuming  fire.  Their  con- 
flict is  ended ;  and  henceforward,  the  struggle  is  of  alto- 
gether another  sort. 

There  remains,  indeed,  a  lingering  regret,  a  fond  re- 
membrance of  the  Caesar  of  his  former  knowledge,  which 
Brutus  idealizes  into  love  for  the  present  Csesar ;  but  it  is 
love  loithont  influence^  illusive  and  delusive,  the  spirit- 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  2.S5 

less  spectre  of  its  former  self  ;  without  a  spark  of  vitality, 
a  single  prompting  towards  salvation,  or  even  a  remindor 
of  the  obligations  of  friendship. 

There  was  a  foundation  of  truth  in  the  worldling  An- 
tony's impassioned  words : 

"  This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all : 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  hivi  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitor's  ai"ms, 
Quite  vanqulsh'd  him :   then  burst  his  mighty  heart." 

Having  thus  effectually  "  whet  "  Brutus  against  Csesar, 
Cassius'  remaining  task  is  easy.  He  has  but  to  suggest, 
the  more  remotely  the  better,  and  Brutus'  imagination 
does  all  the  rest. 

And  here  let  it  be  observed  that  Cassius'  effort  to 
mould  Brutus  to  his  design  by  awakening  in  him  a  per- 
sonal envy  of  Caesar  was  a  total  failure.  Bacon  has  given 
us  an  infallible  test :  "  Again,  envy  is  ever  joined  with 
the  comparison  of  a  man's  self  ;  and  where  there  is  no 
comparison,  no  envy."  We  apply  this  test,  and  while 
Cassius'  animus  thus  becomes  plainly  manifest,  the  clos- 
est scrutiny  of  Brutus  fails  to  reveal,  either  in  thought 
(soliloquy)  or  in  utterance,  the  slightest  comparison  of 
himself  with  Csesar ;  and  this  is  decisive  of  the  matter. 

Nevertheless,  Cassius'  efforts  do  most  assuredly  accom- 
plish his  ulterior  purpose,  and  are,  in  fact,  exquisitely 
adapted  to  that  end.  For  Brutus  is  a  man  peculiarly  un- 
der the  sway  of  any  noble  Affection.  In  him,  love  of  self 
is  wholly  subordinate  to  his  awakened  love  for  Rome. 
And  every  appeal  made  by  the  ignoble  Cassius  to  his  sup- 
posed baser  nature  *  acts  instead,  and  with  tenfold  force, 

*  For  Cassius  also  is  made  illustrative  of  this  source  of  error 
in  human  judgment,  in  pursuance  of  the  broad  method  of  treat- 
ment before  mentioned.  Just  as  the  painter  repeats,  in  minor 
details,  the  colors  which  appear  in  mass  in  his  picture :  or  as 
Gervinus  more  adequately  puts  it,  in  his  rhump,  of  the  Plays : 


236  FRANCIS    BACON 

upon  his  more  generous  instincts  ;  awakening  alarm,  quick- 
ening his  love  for  the  "  general "  to  a  flame  of  devotion, 
and  inciting  him  to  decisive  action. 

Cassius'  vivid  portrayal  of  Caesar's  inordinate  great- 

"  Age,  thou  art  sliamed ! 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man  ? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walls  encompass'd  but  one  man  ? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man," 

subtly  enforced  by  the  whole  power  of  his  personality 
concentrated  upon  Brutus,  awakens  in  him  no  spark  of 
envy,  no  thought  of  its  effect  upon  himself  individually, 
bnt  what  is  much  more  effective,  it  enkindles  his  anxious 
solicitude  for  Rome  into  immediate  and  intense  alarm,  an 
acute  and  really  overpowering  Apprehension.  This  is,  in 
effect,  the  work  of  his  highly  excited  imagination  ;  pro- 
ducing a  mental  condition  which  the  specialist,  skilled  in 
medical  jurisprudence,  will  clearly  understand. 

And  in  this  state,  Cassius'  obscure  hints,  wherein 
"  Caesar's  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at," 
are  as  torches  to  Brutus'  heated  imagination  ;  kindling  it 
into  an  ungovernable  flame,  that  envelops  all  his  powers, 
consuming  his  affection  for  Csesar,  blinding  and  incensing 
his  reason,  and  becoming  the  illumination  of  his  will. 

In  his  concentrated  effort,  Cassius'  nearest  approach 
to  a  suggestion  of  action  is  in  these  concluding  words : 

"  There  was  a  Brutus  once  that  would  have  brook'd 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 
As  easily  as  a  klng.^^ 


"Just  as  Shakespeare  went  from  instance  to  instance  in  his 
judgment  of  moral  actions,  and  never  founded  a  law  on  a  sin- 
gle experience,  so  did  Bacon  in  natural  science  avoid  leaping 
from  one  experience  of  the  senses  to  general  principles." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  237 

Brutus'  imagination  lays  hold  upon  this  hint,  so  subtly 
appealing  to  his  nobler  instincts,  his  pride,  and  his  patri- 
otism, and  makes  it  the  corner-stone  of  the  whole  edifice 
of  his  excited  thought ;  developing  therefrom  a  complete 
structure,  the  exalted  embodiment  of  what  he  conceives 
to  be  his  personal  and  imperative  duty ;  and  of  which 
we  catch  a  glimpse  in  his  later  outburst : 

"  Shall  Rome  stand  under  one  man's  awe  ? 
What!     Rome? 

My  ancestors  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 
The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  call'd  a  king." 

Beneath  the  surface,  the  sure  foundation  upon  which  his 
reason  rests,  there  lies  the  settled  conviction  that  Caesar 
is  absolutely  determined  to  become  king  in  Rome.* 

*  And  with  consummate  art,  and  almost  limitless  patience  as 
well,  Brutus  is  shown  to  have  received,  immediately  following 
Cassias'  utterance,  and  through  his  senses,  Impressions  whicli 
are  so  apparently  decisive  as  to  Caesar's  inner  and  determined 
purpose,  that  to  him  they  must  have  been  "  confirmations  strong 
as  proofs  of  holy  writ." 

And  first,  as  to  the  experience  of  the  eye :  Now  more  alert 
even  than  Cassius,  when  Csesar  and  his  train  return  from  the 
course,  Brutus  notes  and  calls  Cassius'  attention  to  their  pecu- 
liar appearance: 

"  But  look  you,  Cassius, 
The  angry  spot  doth  glow  on  Caesar's  brow. 
And  all  the  rest  look  like  a  chidden  train : 
Calphurnia's  cheek  is  pale ;  and  Cicero 
Looks  with  such  ferret  and  such  fiery  eyes, 
As  we  have  seen  him  in  the  Capitol, 
Being  cross'd  in  conference  by  some  senators." 

Plucking  Casca  by  the  sleeve,  at  Cassius'  instigation,  ho  is 
foremost  in  their  eager  questionings  as  to  what  had  ha})peuc'(l. 
He  then  hears  the  narrative  of  an  eye-witness,  whose  acromit. 
obviously,  is  profusely  colored  with  his  own  personal  opiniouri 
and  deductions ;  shrewd,  cynical,  and  doubtless  discerning. 

He  liears  from  Casca  that  this  day,  Antony,  Caesar's  devoted 


238  FRANCIS    BACON 

This  neither  receives  nor  admits  of  any  discussion.  It  is 
now  beyond  question  ;  the  one  clearly  recognized  and  estab- 
lished fact.  But  this,  most  assuredly,  calls  for  prevention. 
And  there  is  heard,  in  his  inner  consciousness,  the  voice 
of  his  great  ancestor,  thus  evoked  from  the  shades,  sum- 
moning him  to  action  ;  if  indeed,  he  be  not  the  degenerate 
son  of  such  a  worthy  sire.  It  incites  him  to  a  like  act  of 
heroic  devotion.  And  thence  the  idea  takes  possession  of 
him, that  death  —  Caesar's  violent  death  —  is  the  one  pre- 
ventive remedy,  the  bounden  duty  to  which  he  is  called. 
And  this  also  becomes  a  settled  conviction,  attaininsf  over 
him  what  is  known  as  the  dominating  power  of  th.Q  fixed 
idea  ;  entertained  in  that  dreadful  certainty  that  partakes 
of  madness.*    He  is  caught  in  the  mad  whirl  of  this  vor- 

f  riend,  thrice  offered  him  the  crown  :  that  "  he  put  it  by  thrice, 
every  time  gentler  than  other  ":  that  "he  put  it  by  once  ;  but 
for  all  that,  he  would  fain  have  had  it.  Then  he  offered  it  to 
him  again  ;  then  he  put  it  by  again  ;  but  to  my  thinking,  he  was 
very  loth  to  lay  his  fingers  off  it.  And  then  he  offered  it  the 
third  time ;  he  put  it  the  third  time  by :  and  still  as  he  refused 
it,  the  rabblement  shouted,  and  clapped  their  chapped  hands,  and 
threw  up  their  sweaty  night-caps,  and  uttered  such  a  deal  of 
stinking  breath,  because  Caesar  refused  the  crown,  that  it  had 
almost  choked  Caesar  ;  for  he  swooned  and  fell  down  at  it  ":  and 
there  was  the  end  of  the  matter. 

Brutus'  precipitate  conclusion  brings  forcibly  to  mind  Bacon's 
earnest  caution  to  mankind,  in  his  Novxim  Ovyantim,  First 
Book: 

''  But  by  far  the  greatest  hindrance  and  aberration  of  the 
human  understanding  proceeds  from  the  dulness,  iuconipetency, 
and  deceptions  of  the  senses;  in  that  things  which  strike  flic, 
sense  outweigh  things  which  do  not  immediately  strike  it,  though 
they  be  more  important.  Hence  it  is  that  speculation  commonly 
ceases  when  sight  ceases  ;  insomuch  that  of  things  invisible 
there  is  little  or  no  observation." 

*  "  Antony.  And  't  was  I 

That  the  mad  Brutus  ended." 

— Antony  and  Cleopatra,  ILL..,  9. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  289 

tex,  and  all  his  thoughts  circle  continually  round  its  cen- 
tre :  while  the  vision  of  the  heroism  that  lies  at  its  core 
so  entrances  him  that  he  seeks  no  escape.  Egotism  un- 
consciously finds  supreme  expression  in  this  almost  unpar- 
alleled act  of  devotion ;  the  impending  sacrifice  of  both 
himself  and  his  loved  one  upon  the  altar  of  his  country. 
His  moral  perceptions  are  dazed  and  bewildered  in  the 
overshadowing  presence  of  such  dazzling  splendor.  The 
cup  is  intoxicating  in  its  sweetness :  and  we  can  now  un- 
derstand, perhaps  as  never  before,  how  the  Nihilist,  for 
example,  can  eagerly,  aye  joyously,  throw  the  bomb,  whose 
explosion  must  inevitably  ingulf  himself  in  the  destruc- 
tion purposed  for  his  Czar. 

Under  the  tension  of  this  morbid  excitement,  when 
such  a  mighty  destiny  is  felt  crowding  upon  him,  Brutus 
is  evidently  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  mental  and 
spiritual  exaltation ;  as  witness  his  horrible  travesty  of 
murder : 

"  Let 's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods." 

And  further,  it  should  be  remembered  that  though  a 
man  of  inflexible  will,  Brutus,  when  himself,  is  naturally 
of  the  sweetest  disposition,  tender-hearted,  sympathetic, 
and  forbearing.  "  Plis  life  was  gentle  ";  full  of  loving 
kindness  and  delicate  attentions  to  the  comfort  and  hap- 
piness of  even  his  attendants: 

"  Brutus.  I  pray  you,  sirs,  lie  in  my  tent,  and  sleep ; 
It  may  be  I  shall  raise  you  by  and  by 
On  business  to  my  brother  Cassius. 

Var.  So  please  you,  we  will  stand,  and  watch  your  jjleasure. 
Brutus.  I  will  not  have  it  so :  lie  down,  good  sirs ; 
It  may  be  I  shall  otherwise  bethink  me. — 


[To  Lucius.^ 

It  was  well  done ;  and  thou  shalt  sleep  again ; 

I  will  not  hold  thee  long :  if  I  do  live, 

I  will  be  good  to  thee.     \_Musw  and  a  Sotuj. 


240  FRANCIS    BACON 

This  is  a  sleepy  tune  :  —  O  murderous  slumber ! 

Lay'st  thou  thy  leaden  mace  upon  my  boy, 

That  plays  thee  music  ?  —  Gentle  knave,  good  night ; 

I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. 

If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break'st  thy  instrument; 

I  '11  take  it  from  thee ;  and,  good  boy,  good  night." — 

But  now,  au  ominous  change  makes  itself  distinctly 
manifest.  He  is  continuously  sleejdess.  He  becomes  sul- 
lenly dumb,  morose,  irritable,  and  impatient ;  ungentle 
even  to  his  devoted  wife,  "  musing  and  sighing,"  and 
moodily  self-absorbed : 

"  You  have  ungently,  Brutus, 

Stole  from  my  bed :   and  yesternight,  at  supper, 

You  suddenly  arose,  and  walk'd  about, 

Musing  and  sighing,  with  your  arms  across : 

And  when  I  asked  you  what  the  matter  was, 

You  stared  upon  me  with  ungentle  looks : 

I  urged  you  further ;  then  you  scratch'd  your  head, 

And  too  impatiently  stamp'd  with  your  foot: 

Yet  I  insisted,  yet  you  answer'd  not ; 

But,  with  an  angry  wafture  of  your  hand, 

Gave  sign  for  me  to  leave  you:  so  I  did; 

Fearing  to  strengthen  that  impatience 

Which  seemed  too  much  enkindled.  .  .  . 

It  will  not  let  you  eat,  nor  talk,  nor  sleep ; 

And,  could  it  work  so  much  upon  your  shape 

As  it  hath  much  prevail'd  on  your  condition, 

/  should  not  know  you,  Brutus." 

All  too  plainly,  Brutus  is  for  the  time  distracted,  — 
drawn  away  from  himself.  And  as  he  muses,  his  weary 
brain  is  overrun  with  "  figures  "  and  "  fantasies."  Na- 
ture and  experience,  as  is  seen  in  his  soliloquy,  are  con- 
tinually affording  him  subtle  analogies,  which  feed  and 
strengthen  his  delusion.  From  the  first  inception  of  this 
dreadful  thing,  till  its  final  enactment,  all  the  interim  is 
one  prolonged  mental  delirium,  a  disordered  conclave  of 
"  the  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments,"  like  unto  "  a 
phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream": 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  241 

"  Since  Cassius  first  did  vjliet  nie  against  Caesar, 
I  have  not  slept. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 
And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream  : 
The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council ;  and  the  state  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection." 

When  reason,  even  temporarily,  is  set  at  naught,  de- 
throned, and  her  province  usurped,  then  indeed  does  the 
little  kingdom  of  man  suffer  "  the  nature  of  cm  insurrec- 
tion.'''' And  in  this  "  council,"  Brutus'  unregulated  powers 
act  in  unison,  as  if  they  were  allied  in  a  conspiracy  to 
enforce  this  "fixed  idea."  Affection  is  clamoring  for  its 
satisfaction,  in  this  supreme  act  of  self-devotion.  Imag- 
ination pictures  its  entrancing  glories,  and  presents  no 
other  alternative.  Reason,  subjected,  is  forced  to  lend  its 
tottering  aid :  while  the  Will,  awaiting  determination,  is 
subtly  enforcing  the  affirmative.* 

*  The  following,  from  Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learning^ 
Second  Book,  are  material  aids  to  our  comprehension  of  Brutus : 

"Secondly,  there  is  a  seducement  that  worketh  by  the 
strength  of  the  impression  and  not  by  the  subtilty  of  the  illaquea- 
tion  [sophism] ;  not  so  much  perplexing  the  reason,  as  overrul- 
ing it  by  power  of  the  imagination.  But  this  part  I  think  more 
proper  to  handle  when  I  shall  speak  of  Rhetoric.  But  lastly, 
there  is  a  yet  much  more  important  and  profound  kind  of  falla- 
cies in  the  mind  of  man,  which  I  find  not  observed  or  inquired 
at  all,  and  think  good  to  place  here,  as  that  which  of  all  others 
appertaineth  most  to  rectify  judgment ;  the  force  whereof  is 
such,  as  it  doth  not  dazzle  or  snare  the  understanding  in  some 
l)articulars,  but  doth  more  generally  and  inwardly  infect  and 
(corrupt  the  state  thereof.  For  the  mind  of  man  is  far  from  the 
nature  of  a  clear  and  equal  glass,  wherein  the  beams  of  things 
should  reflect  according  to  their  true  incidence  ;  nay,  it  is  rather 
like  an  enchanted  glass,  full  of  superstition  and  imposture,  if  it 
be  not  delivered  and  reduced.   For  this  purpose,  let  us  consider 

16 


242  FRANCIS    BACON 

In  this  '  negotiation  within  himself '  Brutus  thinks 
aloud  ;  thus  affording  us  an  exemplification  of  its  general 
character  and  course  of  procedure.  And  it  is  the  especial 
province  of  this  soliloquy  to  enable  us,  as  far  as  may  be, 
to  "  think  over  his  thoughts  after  him,"  in  their  painful 
development ;  to  follow  them  in  their  circuitous  round,  as 
it  is  unrolled  before  us.  For  as  Bacon  profoundly  ob- 
serves, in  his  De  Augjnentis,  Sixth  Book : 

"  Certainly  it  is  possible  for  a  man  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree  to  revisit  his  own  knowledge,  and  trace  over  again 
the  footsteps  both  of  his  cognition  and  consent ;  and  by 
that  means  to  transplant  it  into  another  mind,  just  as  it 
grew  in  his  own." 

"  It  must  be  by  his  death": 

Brutus'  bewildered  mind  is  involved  in  the  intricacies 
of  a  labyrinthine  maze.  This  is  the  centre  from  which  he 
starts,  and  to  which  he  alwaj^s  returns.  He  is  bound  to 
it  by  chords  of  the  heart,  whose  pull  is  stronger  than  mag- 
netic earth's  upon  the  needle.     The  sane  mind,  indeed, 

the  false  appearances  that  are  imposed  upon  us  by  the  general 
nature  of  the  mind,  beholding  them  in  an  example  or  two ;  as 
first  in  that  instance  which  is  the  root  of  all  superstition,  namely, 
That  to  the  nature  of  the  viincl  of  all  men  it  is  consonant  for 
the  affirmative  or  active  to  affect  more  than  the  nef/atlve  or  ^tvi- 
vative."      (Bacon's  italics.)      And  again: 

"  The  duty  and  office  of  Rhetoric  is  to  apply  Reason  to  Im- 
agination for  the  better  moving  of  the  Will.  For  we  see  Reason 
is  disturbed  in  the  administration  thereof  by  three  means :  by 
Illaqueation  or  Sophism,  which  pertains  to  Logic ;  by  Imagina- 
tion or  Impression,  which  pertains  to  Rhetoric;  and  by  Passion 
or  Affection,  which  pertains  to  Morality  (Ethic.)  And  as  in 
negotiation  with  others  men  are  wrought  by  cunning,  by  im- 
portunity, and  by  vehemency ;  so  in  this  negotiation  within  our- 
selves, men  are  undermined  by  Inconsequences,  solicited  and 
importuned  by  Impressions  or  Observations,  and  transported  by 
Passions." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  24.') 

can  scarcely  comprehend  his  absolute  "  possession  "  by 
this  idea  ;  wrought  through  the  spell  of  its  horrible  fas- 
cination. 

The  ideas,  the  representative  conceptions,  aye  the  real- 
ities of  Home,  Country,  Humanity,  and  God,  are  intrenched 
in  the  citadel  of  man's  soul ;  held  there  by  the  strong 
grasp  of  his  affections.  In  supreme  moments,  it  becomes 
manifest  that  they  are  dearer  to  him  than  life  itself.  And 
the  saner  the  man,  the  more  dominant  they  are  over  him. 
He  is  "  possessed  "  by  them  :  they  influence  and  ofttimes 
determine  his  conduct.  And  these  "fixed  ideas"  are  sound 
and  sane,  because  they  are  cognitions  of  basic  realities. 
It  is  only  when  they  are  in  whole,  or  in  part,  delusive  — 
illusions  of  the  imagination — that  their  presence  raises  the 
question  of  insanity,  or  of  partial  or  temporary  aberration. 
Galileo's  conception  was  the  recognition  of  a  reality  ;  and 
the  world  justly  regai'ds  him  as  a  genius.  Had  it  been  in 
fact  a  delusion,  the  world,  as  justly,  would  have  pro- 
nounced him  a  crank.  The  difference  was  due  to  his 
"  purity  of  illumination,"  through  the  clear,  "  dry  light " 
of  reason. 

Looking  through  this  glass  into  an  abnormal  condition, 
we  gain  a  faint  glimpse  of  the  nature  and  essential  char- 
acteristics of  Brutus'  hallucination.  For  it  is  a  devel- 
opment of  defective  vision,  literally,  "  the  perception  of 
things  which  have  no  reality."  In  a  word,  he  is  the  un- 
conscious victim  of  a  chimera  of  his  inflamed  imagination. 
The  idea, or  mental  conception,  of  Caesar's  violent  death, 
as  the  one  and  only  prevention  of  the  apprehended  dan- 
ger, is  to  him  the  vision,  intensely  vivid,  of  a  reality.  It 
has  become  one  of  the  verities  of  his  "  little  kingdom." 
And  this  idea  quickly  expands  and  develops  into  a  form- 
ulated Act.  Putting  Cajsar  to  death,  becomes  his  medi- 
tation, or  as  the  lawyers  would  say,  his  "premeditation." 
This  "  dreadful  thing,"  whose  animus  is  the  spirit  of  fan- 


244  FRANCIS    BACON 

aticism,  insensibly  entwines  itself  around  all  his  powers, 
becomes  seated  in  his  affections,  and  is  at  length  as  strongly, 
as  surely  intrenched  in  the  citadel,  as  are  any  of  the  sanc- 
tities mentioned.  The  outward  manifestations  justly  alarm 
his  wife  ;  and  within, —  between  its  final  acting  and  the 
first  motion, — 

"  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream." 

During  this  mild  delirium,  it  even  dawns  upon  him  that 
the  killing  of  Ca3sar  is  not  a  butchery  but  a  "  sacrifice  ": 
and  his  benighted  mind,  under  the  lurid  illumination  of 
his  imagination,  discerns  in  this  act  the  enshrinement  of 
all  these  sanctities,  their  concrete  crystallization,  their  em- 
bodied essence, —  and  need  we  wonder  at  its  dazzling,  in- 
toxicating power  ?  Or  that  it  insensibly  develops  into  the 
choice  of  his  noble  soul? 

Indeed,  looking  closely,  we  can  perceive  on  his  part  no 
effort  to  escape  this  act ;  nor  even  the  desire.  But  strange 
to  say,  in  all  his  gropings,  though  perhaps  unconsciously, 
he  is  ever  seeking  after  its  adequate  justification  ;  cen- 
tering his  efforts  on  the  discovery  and  upbuilding  of  a 
reasonable  vindication  of  his  choice  :  nor  will  he  be  balked 
by  any  difficulties  encountered.  Nevertheless,  he  would 
be  thoroughly  honest  with  himself, 

"  and,  for  my  part, 
I  know  no  personal  cause  to  spurn  at  him," 

In  Caesar  personally,  aside  from  his  purpose,  he  finds 
no  fault.  However  it  may  be  with  Cassius,  for  his  part, 
he  has  no  personal  ground.  The  cause,  the  occasion,  lies 
not  in  this, 

"  But  for  the  general.     He  would  be  crowned : 
How  that  might  change  his  nature,  there's  the  question": 

Clearly,  the  virtual  gravamen  in  the  matter,  a  funda- 
mental and  unquestionable  grievance,  is  oppression,  in  the 
state  and  of  the  people.    It  goes  without  saying,  that  Tyr- 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  245 

anny — Caesar's  apprehended  tyranny — "his  arbitrary  rule, 
responsible  only  to  himself,  and  without  holding  himself 
to  responsibility,"  is  the  monstrous  evil  that  must  be  pre- 
vented, even  "  by  his  death."  Conscience  and  reason  alike 
rest  contentedly  upon  this  secure  foundation. 

But  he  is  also  well  aware,  as  soon  appears,  that  Csesar, 
in  the  past,  notably,  has  shown  no  tendency  to  rule  with- 
out holding  himself  to  responsibility,  but  rather  the  con- 
trary. 

He  finds,  and  finds  again,  that  there  is  here  no  material 
that  can  be  builded  upon  this  foundation.  But  how  far 
the  exercise  of  the  kingly  prerogative  might  change  his 
nature,  '''•There 's  the  quention.''''  For  if  Caesar's  rule  would 
not  be  tyrannical,  then,  certainly,  his  death  would  be  \\n- 
warranted  ;  without  adequate  cause  or  occasion.  But  if, 
on  the  contrary,  his  nature  would  change,  and  he  would 
become  a  tyrant,  then,  that  it  must  be  prevented  by  his 
death  is  self-evident.  (To  Brutus.)  And  reason,  though 
almost  blinded  in  this  lurid  light,  would  seem  for  the  mo- 
ment to  be  assuming  her  lawful  sway.  A  debatable  ques- 
tion is  here  submitted  to  its  consideration  ;  whose  point 
becomes  thenceforth  the  focus  of  the  whole  discussion. 

But  thereupon,  instantly,  imagination,  as  if  "  retained  " 
by  some  unknown  power,  pictures  before  him  a  killing 
analogy : 

"It  is  the  bright  day  that  brings  forth  the  adder: 
And  that  craves  wary  walking.     Crown  him  —  that  —  " 

Here  a  link  is  missing.  Imagination  breaks  down  :  it 
is  unable  to  complete  the  figure.  Ca33ar  is  no  adder,  bear- 
ing an  envenomed  sting ! 

But  reason  rises  triumphantly.  It  discerns  in  this 
broken  analogy  what  may  prove  to  be  a  restful  premise : 

"  And  then,  I  grant,  we  put  a  sting  in  him, 
That  at  his  will  he  may  do  danger  with." 


246  FRANCIS    BACON 

It  advances  a  further  step ;  discerning  clearly  an  appli- 
cable principle : 

"  The  abuse  of  greatness  is  when  it  disjoins 
Remorse  from  power :  " 

Here  we  have  the  legitimate  "  Interpretation  ";  unfold- 
ing the  genesis  of  this  abuse,  its  origin  and  source.  As 
outlined  by  Bacon,  it  "  closes  with  nature  and  comes  at 
the  very  brink  of  operation,  if  it  does  not  actually  deal 
with  it."  Such  "  are  not  empty  notions,  but  well  defined, 
and  such  as  nature  would  really  recognize  as  her  first 
principles,  and  such  as  lie  at  the  heart  and  marrow  of 
things." 

Power,  indeed,  divorced  from  a  poignant  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility— whose  sanction  is  in  the  reason — is  lawless. 
"  Ought  "  is  naught,  liberty  license,  and  will  caprice  :  and 
this  is  the  very  essence  of  tyranny.  Remorse  (as  here 
used,  —  the  pagan  expression  for  the  christian  "  con- 
science,") is  the  whip-cord  of  self  restraint,  the  stinging 
compunction,  the  remedial  punishment,  that  enforces  the 
sway  of  responsibility ;  and  its  absence  breeds  monsters 
— of  which  tyranny,  in  its  utter  contempt  of  self-restraint, 
is  the  foremost  example. 

The  next  step  is  the  application  of  this  fundamental 
principle  to  Caesar  individually  ;  and  in  the  light  afforded 
by  observation : 

"  and,  to  speak  truth  of  Caesar, 
I  have  not  known  when  his  affections  sway'd 
More  than  his  reason."* 

*  To  fully  comprehend  the  occasion,  the  force,  and  the  bear- 
ing of  this  "  observation,"  we  must  turn  again  to  Bacon's  Psy- 
chology : 

*'  Again,  if  the  affections  in  themselves  were  pliant  and  obe- 
dient to  reason,  it  were  true  there  should  be  no  great  use  of 
persuasions  and  insinuations  to  the  will,  more  than  of  naked 
propositions  and  ])roofs  ;  but  in  regard  of  the  continual  muti- 
nies and  seditions  of  the  affections, 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  247 

A  priori,  and  a  posteriori  as  well,  Caesar  is  thus  pre- 
eminently a  safe  man  to  be  entrusted  with  power, —  un- 
less, indeed,  all  kings  be  tyrants,  which,  a  posteriori,  is 
preposterous.  And  Brutus  would  appear  to  be  approach- 
ing a  reasonable  conclusion, — even  upon  his  own  premises. 
But  instantly,  again,  imagination,  as  if  suborned  by  de- 
sire, comes  to  the  rescue ;  projecting  before  him,  graph- 
ically, the  fatal  picture  of  young  ambition  climbing  upon 
the  ladder  of  lowliness  into  the  clouds,  and  then  turning 
his  back  in  scorn  upon  the  base  rounds  on  which  he  has 
risen : 

"  But  'tis  a  common  proof 
That  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder, 
Whereto  the  climber-upward  turns  his  face : 
But  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round, 
He  then  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back. 
Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 
By  which  he  did  ascend." 

This  is  essentially  what  Bacon  terms  an  "  Antici]>a- 
tion,"  as  distinguished  from  an  "  Interpretation."  * 

Video  meliora,  proboque  ; 
Deteriora  sequor: 
["  whereby  they  not  only  see  the  better  course,  but  approve  it 
also,  nevertheless  follow  the  worse,"]  reason  would  become  cap- 
tive and  servile,  if  Eloquence  of  Persuasions  did  not  practice 
and  win  the  Imagination  from  the  Affection  s  part,  and  con- 
tract a  confederacy  between  the  Reason  and  Imagination 
against  the  Affections.  For  the  affections  themselves  carry  ever 
an  appetite  to  good,  as  reason  doth;  the  difference  is,  that,  the 
affection  heholdeth  inereUj  the  present;  reason  the  future  and, 
sum  of  time;  [Bacon's  italics]  and  therefore  the  present  filling 
the  imagination  more,  reason  is  cominonly  vanquished;  but 
after  that  force  of  eloquence  and  persuasion  hath  made  things 
future  and  remote  appear  as  present,  then  upon  the  revolt  of 
the  imagination  reason  prevaileth.^'  —  Advancement  of  Learn- 
ing, Second  Book. 

*  "  And  to  make  my  meaning  clearer,  and  to  familiarize  the 
thing  by  giving  it  a  name,  I  have  chosen  to  call  one  of  these 
methods  or  ways  Anticipation  of  the  3Iind.  tlie  other  Interpre- 


248  FRANCIS    BACON 

It  is  a  glittering  generality,  "  confused  and  ill-defined  and 
hastily  and  irregularly  drawn  from  reality  ":  it  is  com- 
monly approved  "  upon  certain  rumors  and  vague  fumes 
and  airs  of  experience  ":  it  means  almost  anything,  and 
embraces  everybody,  and  therefore  Caesar.  Divested  of 
its  dazzling  glamour,  this  oracular  "  dictum,"  ^-  thus  en- 

tation  of  Nature."  "  For  the  one  just  glances  at  experiment 
and  particulars  in  passing,  the  other  dwells  duly  and  orderly 
among  them.  The  one,  again,  begins  at  once  by  establishing 
certain  abstract  and  useless  generalities  ;  the  other  rises  by  grad- 
ual steps  to  that  which  is  prior  and  better  known  in  the  order 
of  nature."  "The  one  flies  from  the  senses  and  particulars  to 
the  most  general  axioms,  and  from  these  princii)les,  the  truth 
of  which  it  takes  for  settled  and  immovable,  proceeds  to  judg- 
ment." "  For  though  your  direction  seems  to  be  certain  and 
free  by  pointing  you  to  a  nature  that  is  inseparable  from  the 
nature  you  inquire  upon,  yet  if  it  do  not  carry  you  a  degree  or 
remove  nearer  to  action,  operation,  or  light  to  make  or  produce, 
it  is  but  superficial  and  counterfeit."  And  again:  "I  call  An- 
ticipations the  voluntary  collection  that  the  mind  maketh  of 
knowledge;  which  is  every  mmis  reason.'' — Novum  Onjanum, 
and  Of  the  Interpretation  of  Nature. 

*  "  Now  let  any  man  soberly  and  diligently  consider  what  the 
way  is  by  which  men  have  been  accustomed  to  proceed  in  the 
investigation  and  discovery  of  things ;  and  in  the  first  place  he 
will  no  doubt  remark  a  method  of  discovery  very  simple  and  in- 
artificial; which  is  the  most  ordinary  method,  and  is  no  more 
than  this.  When  a  man  addresses  himself  to  discover  some- 
thing, he  first  seeks  out  and  sets  before  him  all  that  has  been 
said  about  it  by  others ;  then  he  begins  to  meditate  for  himself ; 
and  so  by  much  agitation  and  working  of  the  wit  solicits  and 
as  it  were  evokes  his  own  spirit  to  give  him  oracles :  which 
method  has  no  foundation  at  all,  but  rests  only  upon  opinions 
and  is  carried  about  with  them." 

"  The  human  understanding  is  moved  by  those  things  most 
which  strike  and  enter  the  mind  simultaneously  and  suddenly, 
and  so  fill  the  imagination  ;  and  then  it  feigns  and  supposes  all 
other  things  to  be  somehow,  though  it  cannot  see  how,  similar 
to  those  few  things  by  which  it  is  surroiuuled." 

And  again:  "The  human   understanding  when  it  has  once 


AND   UIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  249 

forced  upon  Brutus'  reason,  so  far  as  it  means  anything 
specifically,  is  to  the  effect  that  it  is  commonly  known  that 
this  habit  of  character,  which  he  has  recognized  as  being 
so  pronounced  in  Caesar,  is  but  an  assumed  bearing,  af- 
fected as  a  means  to  further  an  ambitious  end ;  and  that 
when  one  thus  attains  the  highest  power,  he  spurns  this 
scaffolding,  changes  front,  throws  off  the  mask,  and  be- 
comes a  tyrant. 

"  so  Caesar  may  : 
Then  lest  he  may,  prevent." 

Brutus'  understanding  is  indeed  "  colored  and  infected"; 
"  blinded  and  incensed."  Were  he  in  his  sober  senses, 
his  vision  undazzled,  he  would  realize,  in  utter  abhorrence, 
the  plain  import  of  this  judgment,  in  its  last  analysis. 
For  its  whole  fabric  rests  upon  the  basis,  and  is  to  the 
effect,  that  the  quality  which  he  has  just  recognized  in 
Csesar,  in  itself  a  virtue,  the  surest  foundation  of  safety 
in  the  exercise  of  power,  may  he  in  him  a  falsity,  a  base 
artifice,  the  fair  outward  development  of  an  inward  du- 
plicity and  insidious  treachery  :  and  upon  this  j^ossib'ility 
he  dooms  him  to  assassination. 

But  he  has  found  what  all  the  while  he  was  un  con- 
adopted  an  opinion  (either  as  being  the  received  opinion,  or  as 
being  agreeable  to  itself)  draws  all  things  else  to  support  and 
agree  with  it  ...  in  order  that  by  this  great  and  pernicious 
predetermination  the  authority  of  its  former  conclusions  may 
remain  inviolate." 

"  For  what  a  man  had  rather  were  true  he  more  readily  be- 
lieves. Therefore  he  rejects  ditficult  things  from  impatience  of 
research ;  sober  things,  because  they  narrow  hope ;  the  deeper 
things  of  nature,  from  superstition ;  the  light  of  experience, 
from  arrogance  and  pride,  lest  his  mind  should  seem  to  be  oc- 
cupied with  things  mean  and  transitory ;  things  not  couunonly 
believed,  out  of  deference  to  the  opinion  of  the  vulgar.  Num- 
berless in  short  are  the  ways,  and  sometimes  imperceptible,  in 
which  the  affections  color  and  infect  the  under  stand  ivy.''' — 
Novum  Organum,  First  Book. 


250  FRANCIS    BACON 

sciously  seeking — an  adequate  justification  for  his  death. 
And  he  would  clinch  it  beyond  peradventure  : 

"  And  since  the  quarrel 
Will  bear  no  color  for  the  thing  he  is, 
Fashion  it  thus  :   that  what  he  is,  augmented, 
Would  run  to  these  and  these  extremities: 
And  therefore  think  him  as  a  serpent's  Qg^, 
Which  hatch'd,  would  as  his  kind  grow  mischievous 
And  kill  him  in  the  shell." 

Here  the  awful  bias  imposed  upon  Brutus  fully  asserts 
its  predominant  sway.  By  the  subtlest  cunning-,  he  utterly 
befools  himself.  "  3Iay  he  "  is  imperceptibly  moulded 
into  "  /s."  And  reason,  by  violence,  is  made  to  fashion 
it  thus ;  and  thus  to  arrive  at  a  reasonable  conclusion, — 
dazzling  in  its  brilliancy,  and  clearly,  an  absolute  vindi- 
cation. 

In  the  giddy  whirl  of  his  bewildered  brain,  overborne 
by  the  mutinies,  seditions,  and  insurrections  of  his  excited 
powers,  and  under  the  illumination  of  these  lightning 
flashes  of  the  imagination,  he  now  beholds  in  this  imaged 
serpent  the  vivid  reality,  in  the  hideous  phantasma  of  a 
distracted  mind.  He  actually  "  thinks  "  Cajsar  an  un- 
hatched  serpent.  He  is  treading  in  an  endless  maze  :  he 
has  rounded  the  circle,  and  is  come  again  to  the  starting 
point,  "  It  must  be  by  his  death  ";  now  intensified  into 
"  kill  him  in  tlie  shell.^^  The  little  excursion  has  but  en- 
meshed him  the  tighter  in  the  web ;  adding  stupefaction 
to  intoxication.  His  reason,  blinded,  now  rests  content- 
edly in  established  security ;  conscience  is  seemingly  sat- 
isfied, and  Brutus  is  "  honest  "  in  his  conviction : 
"  and  what  other  oath. 
Than  honesty  to  honesty  engaged, 
That  this  shall  be,  or  we  will  fall  for  it?  " 

But  one  thing  more  remains  to  complete  his  determina- 
tion. At  this  moment  Lucius  brings  him  the  missive, 
which  Cinna  had  thrown  in  at  the  window,  at  ('assiu-s' 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  251 

instigation.  And  by  the  illumination  of  the  "  exhala- 
tions," the  uncertain,  fitful  light  of  the  lurid  lightnings, 
he  reads: 

"  Brutus,  thou  sleep'st :  awake,  and  see  thyself. 

Shall  Rome,  etc.     Speak,  strike,  redress ! 

Brutus,  thou  sleep'st :  awake !  " 

lie  is  called.  Brutus  !  All  Rome  is  calling  upon  Mm  ; 
to  awake  from  his  torpor ;  to  see  himself — the  son  of  that 
glorious  ancestor,  who  once  before  redeemed  her.  Rome 
looks  to  him  ;  to  speak !  to  strike  !  to  redress  !  And  he 
will  not,  can  not  fail  her.  Brutus  is  thus  exalted,  his 
understanding  completely  enravished.  The  last  slender 
moorings  that  anchored  him  to  the  solid  earth  are  snapped 
asunder  ;  and  he  is  fully  launched  upon  that  dread,  shore- 
less ocean  of  a  crime-breeding  delusion.  A  flood-tide  of 
deepest  emotion  sweeps  him  onward  in  its  resistless  surge : 
imagination,  usurping  from  reason  the  guidance,  holds 
him  in  the  current ;  and  the  sweetest,  purest,  holiest  affec- 
tions of  the  soul  drive  him  headlong  into  the  glad  conse- 
cration of  himself,  unreservedly,  to  the  execution  of  this 
murderous  design  : 

'■'•'■Shall  Home,  etc.''     Thus  must  I  piece  it  out; 
Shall  Rome  stand  under  one  man's  awe? 

What!     Rome? 
My  ancestors  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 
The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  call'd  a  king. 
'/S'/vea^,  strike,  redress/' — Am  1  entreated 
To  speak  and  strike?    O  Rome!    I  make  thee  promi.sr, 
If  the  redress  will  follow,  thou  receivest 
Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus." 

The  spiritual  tragedy  is  wrought :  and  poor  Brutus, 
completely  enthralled,  is  delivered  over  to  the  destinies, 
to  the  working  out  of  an  awful  fate. 

Note.  —  Were  Brutus  now  on  trial  for  his  life,  for  example 
in  Germany,  under  its  enlightened  code,  his  case  would  "fall 
into  the  compass"  of  the  following  liberal  provision    ( R.  G. 


252  FJRANCIS    BACON 


B.      §51),  "the  result  of  very  careful  discussion  both  by  phy- 
sicians and  lawyers  ": 

"  There  is  no  criminal  act  when  the  actor  at  the  time  of  the 
offence  is  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness  or  morbid  disturbance 
of  the  mind,  through  whicli  the  free  determination  of  the  will 
is  excluded  y 

Tlie  question  of  his  guilt,  in  its  subtler  windings,  would  touch 
closely  upon  the  principle  tersely  put  by  Bacon  in  his  opening 
paragraph :  "  For  purity  of  illumination  and  freedom  of  the 
will  began  and  fell  together."  And  the  world  may  yet  be  driven 
to  accept  Bacon's  conclusion ;  developed  didactically  in  his 
Psychology,  and  in  concrete  representation,  in  Brutus. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  2r>.'> 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Athwart  the  murky  atmosphere,  so  appropriately  envi- 
roning the  action  in  the  play,  and  which  is  indeed  its 
native  element,  there  streams  a  beam  of  sunshine.  It  is 
as  if  a  gilded  ray  from  heaven  were  penetrating  the  lurid, 
perverted  light  that  emanates  from  hell ;  and  the  contrast 
enables  us  to  distinguish  both  their  likeness  and  their 
difference. 

When  that  fiend  in  human  form,  Richard  III.,  was  ex- 
ercising his  Satanic  fascination  over  Lady  Anne,  winning 
her  for  his  bride,  even  while  they  were  standing  before  the 
])leeding  corpse  of  her  beloved  husband,  whom  he  had 
murdered, — 

"  What !     I  that  kill'd  her  husband  and  his  father, 
To  take  her  in  her  heart's  extvemest  hate ; 
With  curses  in  her  mouth,  tears  in  her  eyes, 
The  bleeding  witness  of  her  hatred  by ; 
Having  God,  her  conscience,  and  these  bars  against  me, 
And  I  no  friends  to  back  my  suit  withal, 
But  the  plain  devil,  and  dissembling  looks, 
And  yet  to  win  her,  —  all  the  world  to  nothing ' 
Ha !  "— 

the  final,  transcendent  effort  which  enchained  her  is  thus 
set  forth : 

"  Lo !   here  I  hand  thee  this  sharp-pointed  sword ; 
Which  if  thou  please  to  hide  in  this  true  breast, 
And  let  the  soul  forth  that  adoreth  thee, 
I  lay  it  naked  to  the  deadly  stroke, 
And  humbly  beg  the  death  upon  my  knee. 
[He  lays  his  breast  ojjen ;  she  offers  at  it  ivith  his  sword. 


254  FRANCIS    BACON 

Nay,  do  not  pause ;  for  I  did  kill  King  Henry ;  — 
But  't  was  thy  beauty  that  provoked  me, 
Nay,  now  dispatch  ;  't  was  I  that  stabbed  young  Edward  ; — 
[^She  again  offers  at  his  breast. 
But  't  was  thy  heavenly  face  that  set  me  on. 

[/SAe  lets  fall  the  sword,'" 

and  a  moment  later  accepts  the  ring  of  espousal. 

And  again,  in  the  "  quarrel  scene  "  between  Brutus  and 
Cassius,  when  Brutus,  in  his  intense  anger,  shows  him- 
self implacable, and  deaf  to  threats,  Cassius  finally  subdues 
him  by  the  like  supreme  effort : 

"  There  is  my  dagger. 
And  here  my  naked  breast ;  within  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Pluto's  mine ;   richer  than  gold  : 
If  that  thou  beest  a  Roman,  take  it  forth ; 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart : 
Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Caesar ;  for,  I  know, 
When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst  thou  lov'd'st  him  better 
Than  ever  thou  lov'st  Cassius." 

Brutus  instantly  succumbs : 

"  Sheathe  your  dagger : 
Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor. 

O  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb 
That  carries  anger  as  the  flint  bears  fire ; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark, 
And  straight  is  cold  again.  .   .  . 

Cassius.  Do  you  confess  so  much?    Give  me  your  hand. 
Brutus.  And  my  heart  too." 

But  there  is  a  legitimate  fascination ;  tender,  true,  po- 
tent,—  of  which  this  satanic  fascination  is  the  base  per- 
version. It  is  the  sweet,  benign  influence  of  real  love. 
In  its  grateful  exercise,  it  touches  the  heart  of  man, 
moves  the  springs  of  action  within  him,  and  gently,  but 
effectually,  prevails  over  his  will.  This  sane,  rightful  fas- 
cination is  given  appropriate  exemplification  in  the  play, 
in  the  sway  of  the  loving  Portia  over  Brutus. 


And   his    SHAKESPEARE.  255 

Portia  is  the  personification  of  the  noble  woman,  the 
devoted  wife, 

"  tender  offspring  of  that  rib,  rejin'd 
By  God's  own  finger,  and  by  Him  assign'd 
To  be  a  help  and  not  a  hurt  to  man." 

She  is  wrapped  up  in  Brutus,  become  again  one  with  him, 
in  an  united  life.  And  when  her  regardful  eye  notes  with 
alarm  his  evident  distraction,  moved  by  her  intense  solic- 
itude, she  concentrates  herself  upon  him ;  presses  him 
with  tender  but  urgent  importunity  to  disclose  to  her  the 
cause  ;  for,  woman-like,  she  would  share  the  burden.  And 
Brutus  resisting,  she  thus  gently  pulls  upon  the  chords  that 

bind  them  together : 

"  No,  my  Brutus  ; 
You  have  some  sick  offense  within  your  mind. 
Which,  by  the  right  and  virtue  of  my  place, 
I  ought  to  know  of :   and,  upon  my  knees, 
I  charm  you,  by  my  once  commended  beauty, 
By  all  your  vows  of  love,  and  that  great  vow 
Which  did  incorporate  and  make  us  one, 
That  you  unfold  to  me,  yourself,  your  half. 
Why  you  are  heavy ;  and  what  men  to-night 
Have  had  resort  to  you :  for  here  have  been 
Some  six  or  seven,  who  did  hide  their  faces 

Even  from  darkness 

Within  the  bond  of  marriage,  tell  me,  Brutus, 
Is  it  excepted  I  should  know  no  secrets 
That  appertain  to  you?     Am  I  yourself 
But,  as  it  were,  in  sort  or  limitation ; 
To  keep  with  you  at  meals,  comfort  your  bed. 
And  talk  to  you  sometimes  ?    Dwell  I  but  in  the  suburbs 
Of  your  good  pleasure?      If  it  be  no  more, 
Portia  is  Brutus'  harlot,  not  his  wife." 
Brutus  still  proving  obdurate,  even  under  such  an  ap- 
peal, Portia,  divining  the  occasion  of  his  resistance,  finally 
vanquishes  him  by  a  like  supreme  effort,  in  a  manifesta- 
tion both  of  her  constancy  and  her  devotion  that  is  irre- 
sistible.   But,  mark  you,  this  time,  it  is  by  the  exhibition 
of  a  real  ivowid,  self-inflicted  upon  her  oron  person : 


250  FRANCIS   BACON 

"  I  grant  I  am  a  woman  ;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  that  Lord  Brutus  took  to  wife : 
I  grant  I  am  a  woman ;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  well  reputed, —  Cato's  daughter. 
Think  you  T  am  no  stronger  than  my  sex. 
Being  so  father'd,  and  so  husbanded? 
Tell  me  your  counsels,  I  will  not  disclose  them : 
I  have  made  strong  proof  of  my  constancy. 
Giving  myself  a  voluntary  wound 
Here,  in  the  thigh:   can  I  bear  that  with  patience, 
And  not  my  husband's  secrets?" 

Brutus  is  melted,  subjected  :  as  what  mortal  would  not 
be,  under  such  an  exhibition  of  devotion  ?     He  cries  : 

"  O  ye  gods. 
Render  me  worthy  of  this  noble  wife !  " 

And  then  and  there,  interrupted,  he  gives  her  the  sacred 
promise : 

"  Portia,  go  in  a  while; 

And  by  and  by  thy  bosom  shall  partake 

The  secrets  of  my  heart. 

All  my  engagements  I  will  construe  to  thee, 

All  the  charactery  of  my  sad  brows." 

If  we  penetrate  to  the  heart  of  this  truly  worthy  fasci- 
nation, that  thus  subjects  Brutus'  will,  we  find  that  it  is 
wrought  through  love's  potent  spell,  and  that  its  efficient 
means  is  manifestation. 

This  is  true  of  even  the  Supreme  Love : 

^'' Aticl  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earthy  will  draio  all 
men  unto  me." 

This  mighty  manifestation  of  love  divine  touches  for- 
ever the  heart  of  humanity ;  melts  and  subdues  it ;  and 
prevails  over  the  will  of  the  individual  soul.  But  it  is 
tlu'ough  the  legitimate  workings  of  his  imagination,  quick- 
ened into  activity  by  this  sight,  that  man  attains  to  its 
a(!tual  "  realization  ";  which  awakens  the  answering  im- 
jnilse,  and  procures  the  surrender  of  his  will.  As  Bacon 
profoundly  observes :  "  Not  that  divine  illumination  re- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  257 

sides  in  the  imagination  ;  its  seat  being  rather  in  the  very 
L-itadel  of  the  mind  and  understanding  ;  but  that  the  divine 
grace  uses  the  motions  of  the  imagination  as  an  instru- 
ment of  illumination  ;  just  as  it  uses  the  motions  of  the 
will  as  an  instrument  of  virtue." 

Love  enkindles  love  :  it  is  self-propagating ;  begetting 
itself  in  its  answering  likeness.  It  is  the  Holy  Spirit,  that 
quickening  Power,  that  illuminates  and  comforts  the  soul. 
It  is  God.  And  manifestation  is  love's  torch ;  the  em- 
bodiment, the  enshrinement  of  its  living,  propagating 
flame  ;  blazing  forth  towards  the  loved  one.  And  in  the 
receptive  mind,  its  presence  kindles  the  imagination  into 
a  glow  of  illumination  ;  into  a  vision  and  revelation  of  its 
unutterable  depths,  in  a  faith  that  lays  hold  upon  its  very 
substance.  An  "  attachment "  is  thereby  effected,  and  by 
divine  grace,  there  is  engendered  a  "  new  birth  "  into  a 
corresponding  love. 

And  human  love  is  patterned  after  the  divine.  It  was 
Portia's  expressive  manifestation  of  her  devotion,  firing 
Brutus'  imagination  into  its  adequate  realization, — in  the 
vision  and  revelation  of  its  fathomless  depths, — that  wrung 
from  him  his  cry  of  adoration,  and  deprived  him  of  all 
power  of  further  resistance. 

This  contrasting  example  also  enables  us  to  better  com- 
prehend the  nature  and  operation  of  that  false  or  satanic 
fascination,  which  is  such  an  important  element  in  the  ac- 
tion,— in  its  consistent  development. 

Manifestation  is  alike  the  efficient  means,  through  which 
its  spell  is  wrought.  But  in  difference,  it  is  not  love's 
manifestation,  but  its  QOunUrfeit  presentmerit^  in  its  very 
garb  and  lineaments.  It  is  likewise  an  embodiment,  but 
one  of  which  deception  is  the  soul. 

Richard  III.  and  Cassius  both  speak  in  the  accents  of 
love.  Eye,  voice,  and  "  dissembling  looks  "  all  breathe 
of  its  presence  and  dominating  power.     They  enact  its 


258  FRANCIS    BACON 

manifestations,  in  perfect  similitude.  And  in  climax,  they 
give  devotion's  supreme  expression,  in  the  tender  of  their 
lives  in  its  exemplification.  Their  very  audacity  creates 
faith,  instinctively  ;  for  daring  is  a  belonging  of  sincerity 
and  truth.  It  is  the  seeming  reality,  enacted  before  them, 
which  dazzles  the  vision  of  their  victims ;  exercising  over 
them  the  tremendous  power  inherent  in  its  genuine  pres- 
ence ;  firing  their  imagination,  exactly  as  does  love's  man- 
ifestation ;  creating  the  same  "  motions"  and  emotions,  and 
maintaining  the  same  all-powerful  sway.  It  is  the  work 
of  the  devil ;  only  performed  by  one  whose  soul  is  on  fire 
of  hell. 

Its  immediate  aim  is  the  production  of  illusion ;  and 
therefore  its  efforts  are  centred  upon  the  imagination ; 
stimulating  it  into  an  activity  which  self-accomjilishes  their 
ulterior  purpose.  And  we  can  now  perhaps  better  under- 
stand the  7nodus  operandi  of  Cassius'  work  upon  Brutus, 
before  unfolded  in  detail.  It  was  through  the  production 
of  illusion  in  Brutus'  mind  that  his  delusion  was  effected. 

In  addition  to  its  marvelous  organic  unity,  the  strength 
of  this  play,  in  great  part,  is  in  that  it  lays  hold  upon  the 
very  issues  of  life.  And  this  is  done,  as  we  have  seen,  by 
virtue  of  their  prior  intelligent  grasp  by  its  author.  And 
accordingly,  we  have  but  to  follow  in  his  plainly  marked 
footsteps,  to  more  adequately  comprehend  his  truly  mag- 
nificent work, — a  two-fold  revelation  ;  incidentally,  of  his 
own  world  of  thought,  and  comprehensively,  of  mankind 
unto  itself.* 

*  Obviously  also,  the  astonishing  unity,  which  characterizes 
the  play  as  a  living  organism, — wherein  the  several  varied  ele- 
ments, interesting  in  themselves,  are  yet  more  interesting  as  the 
essential  parts  of  one  unfolding  whole,  —  is  itself  the  product 
and  outcome  of  a  prior,  thorough  mastery  of  such  elements  by 
one  predisposed  to  the  observation  of  the  likeness  and  unity  of 
things  ;  and  especially  by  one  accustomed  to  the  coraprehensidu 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  259 

But  as  Gerviuus  observes,  he  "never  founded  a  law 
upon  a  single  experience  ";  and  accordingly,  we  are  af- 
forded another  instance  of  love's  influence,  in  Calphurnia's 
temporary  sway  over  Csesar.  Upon  her  bended  knees, 
she  implores  him  not  to  go  forth  upon  this  fateful  day ; 
and  for  a  time  she  prevails.  Less  noble  than  Portia,  less 
"  refin'd,"  she  is  yet  thoroughly  womanly  in  her  tender 
solicitude.     Her  method  is  altogether  different ;  but  both 

of  the  subtlest,  most  exquisite  blendings  of  their  characteristics 
and  attributes,  whereby  they  may  partake  of  unity.  But  we  are 
less  astonished,  the  better  we  become  acquainted  with  Bacon. 
For  this  temperament,  or  habit  of  thought,  was  one  of  the  strik- 
ing peculiarities  of  his  personality.  Macaulay  even  ridicules 
him  on  some  of  its  manifestations.  In  his  Essay  on  Bacon,  he 
says: 

"In  the  third  book  of  De  Augmentls,  he  tells  us  that  there 
are  some  principles  which  are  not  peculiar  to  one  science,  but 
are  common  to  several.  That  part  of  philosophy  which  con- 
cerns itself  with  these  principles  is,  in  his  nomenclature,  desig- 
nated as  i)hilosophia  prima.  He  then  proceeds  to  mention 
some  of  the  principles  with  which  this  philosophia  prima  is  con- 
versant. One  of  them  is  this.  An  infectious  disease  is  more 
likely  to  be  communicated  while  it  is  in  progress  than  when  it 
has  reached  its  height.  This,  says  he,  is  true  in  medicine.  It 
is  also  true  in  morals ;  for  we  see  that  the  example  of  very 
abandoned  men  Injures  public  morality  less  than  the  example 
of  men  in  whom  vice  has  not  yet  extinguished  all  good  qualities. 
Again,  he  tells  us  that  in  music  a  discord  ending  in  a  concord 
is  agreeable,  and  that  the  same  thing  may  be  noted  in  the  affec- 
tions. (See  ante,  page  185.)  Once  more  he  tells  us,  that  in 
physics  the  energy  with  which  a  principle  acts  is  often  increased 
by  the  antlperlstasis  of  its  opposite ;  and  that  it  is  the  same  in 
the  contests  of  factions.  If  the  making  of  Ingenious  and  spark- 
ling slmlhtudes  like  these  be  indeed  the  philosophia  prima,  we 
are  quite  sure  that  the  greatest  philosophical  work  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  is  Mr.  Moore's  Lalki  Rookh.  The  similitudes 
which  we  have  cited  are  very  liappy  similitudes.  But  that  a 
man  like  Bacon  should  have  taken  them  for  more,  that  he 
should  have  thought  the  discovery  of  such  resemblances  as  these 


260  FRANCIS    BACON 

tend  to  the  same  end,  —  the  moving  of  the  will  through 
the  action  of  the  imagination.  As  Bacon  indicates,  Su- 
perstition has  its  seat  in  the  imagination  ;  and  it  is  through 
this  avenue  she  approaches  Caesar;  portraying  to  him 
her  wonderful  dream,  of  such  ominous  significance,  and 
relating  graphically  the  fearful  portents  that  had  occurred. 
And  well  she  might :  for  it  must  have  seemed  as  though 
nature,  voicing  the  will  of  the  gods,  was  framing,  in  her 

an  important  part  of  philosophy,  has  always  appeared  to  us  one 
of  the  most  singular  facts  in  the  history  of  letters." 

That  we  may  comprehend  Bacon,  it  is  but  fair  to  give  liis 
continuation  of  this  passage :  "  Neither  are  all  these  which  I 
have  mentioned,  and  others  of  this  kind,  only  similitudes  (as 
men  of  narrow  observation  may  perhaps  conceive  them  to  be), 
but  plainly  the  same  footsteps  of  nature  treading  or  printing 
upon  different  subjects  and  matters.  And  it  is  a  thing  which 
has  not  as  yet  been  carefully  handled.  You  may  perhaps  find 
in  the  writings  of  the  profounder  sort  of  wits  such  axioms  here 
and  there  sparingly  inserted  for  the  use  of  the  argument  they 
have  in  hand ;  but  for  any  body  of  such  axioms,  which  should 
tend  primitively  and  summarily  to  the  advancement  of  the  sci- 
ences, no  one  has  as  yet  collected  one ;  though  it  is  a  thing  of 
excellent  use  for  displaying  the  iinity  of  nature,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  true  office  of  Primitive  Philosophy." 

And  again,  in  his  Interpretation  of  Nature:  "And  these  are 
no  allusions  but  direct  communities,  the  same  delights  of  the 
mind  being  to  be  found  not  only  in  music,  rhetoric,  but  in  moral 
philosophy,  policy,  and  other  knowledges,  and  that  obscure  in 
the  one,  which  is  more  apparent  in  the  other,  yea  and  that  dis- 
covered in  the  one  which  is  not  found  at  all  in  the  other,  and 
so  one  science  greatly  aiding  to  the  invention  and  augmentation 
of  another." 

The  truth  is,  Bacon  was  endowed  with  a  vision,  penetrating 
into  the  heart  of  things,  which  overleaped  the  past  three  cen- 
turies, and  discerned  what  is  likely  to  be  the  definite,  salient  con- 
ception of  the  incoming  Twentieth  century ;  in  our  dawning 
recognition  of  the  community  of  every  department  of  knowl- 
edge and  their  underlying  unity.      Thus,  for  a  single  example : 


AND    niS    SHAKESPEARE.  201 

malignant  aspects,  an  appropriate  setting  for  the  (iKut- 
luent  of  some  immediately  impending  and  awful  tragedy  : 
"  There  is  one  within, 
Besides  the  things  we  have  heard  and  seen, 
Recounts  most  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch, 
A  lioness  hath  whelped  in  the  streets ; 
And  graves  have  yawn'd  and  yielded  up  their  dead : 
Fierce  fiery  warriors  fought  upon  the  clouds, 
In  ranks  and  squadrons  and  right  form  of  war, 
Which  drizzled  blood  upon  the  Capitol : 
The  noke  of  battle  hurtled  in  the  air. 
Horses  did  neigh,  and  dying  men  did  groan, 
And  ghosts  did  shriek  and  squeal  about  the  streets. 
O  Caesar !   these  things  are  beyond  all  use. 
And  I  do  fear  them." 

All  this  is  supported  by  the  report  of  the  augurers : 
"  Plucking  the  entrails  of  an  offering  forth, 
They  could  not  find  a  heart  within  the  beast." 

Caesar  is  susceptible  to  these  influences : 
"  For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late  ;" 

Bacon  says  in  the  passage  referred  to  :  "  The  quavering  upon  a 
stop  in  music  gives  the  same  pleasure  to  the  ear,  as  the  playing 
of  light  on  water  or  a  diamond  gives  to  the  eye ; 
Splendet  tremulo  sub  lumine  jiontus. 
["  Beneath  the  trembling  light  glitters  the  sea." —  Virg.'\ 
The  common  delight-producing  element  present  in  both  is 
rhythm,  the  substance  of  Harmony,  the  essence  of  all  sensuous 
Beauty, —  that  dynamic  modulation  of  "energy"  (the  physical 
expression  of  the  Supreme  Power)  which,  in  its  transmission 
through  the  senses  to  the  brain  and  in  its  effect  upon  the  con- 
sciousness, is  especially  pleasurable, — and  Harmony  is  the  soul 
of  spiritual  beauty.     And  we  thus  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  won- 
derful unity  of  all  beauty;   and  even  of   the  veil  that  hides 
from  us  the  actual  unity  of  the  spiritual  and  material  universe. 
Bacon  dealt  in  something  more  than  mere  similitudes.     He 
put  his  fingers  upon  the  keys  of  a  mighty  instrument,  whence 
there  will  yet  proceed  strains  of  sweetest  unison,  in  an  almost 
overpowering  harmony. 


L'G2  FRANCIS    BACON 

and  this  is  manifested  even  upon  his  first  entrance  on  the 
stage : 

"  Forget  not,  in  your  speed,  A?ifo7iiiis, 
To  touch  Calphurnia:   for  our  elders  say, 
The  barren  touched  in  this  holy  chase, 
Shake  off  their  sterile  course." 

Calphurnia,  thus,  for  the  present,  prevails  over  Caesar's 
powerful  will,  procuring  the  reversal  of  his  avowed  pui'- 
pose :  though  loudly  protesting  his  superiority  to  such 
influences,  he  finally  yields  to  her  entreaty ;  "  denying, 
he  yet  consents." 

Incidentally,  we  are  struck  by  the  forceful,  sententious 
vigor  of  many  of  Caesar's  utterances  ;  revealing  his  lofty 
imaginative  power,  his  commanding  intellect,  and  his  im- 
perious will.     Thus, 

'<  Caesar  shall  forth :  the  things  that  threaten'd  me 

Ne'er  looked  but  on  my  back ;   when  they  shall  see 

The  face  of  Caesar,  they  are  vanquished." 
"  Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths : 

The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once." 
"  Caesar  should  be  a  beast  without  a  heart. 

If  he  should  stay  at  home  to-day  for  fear." 
"  Danger  knows  full  well 

That  Caesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he. 

We  are  two  lions  litter'd  in  one  day, 

And  I  the  elder  and  more  terrible." 
"  Cannot  is  false ;   and  that  I  dare  not  falser." 
"  The  cause  is  in  my  will,  I  will  not  come." 

We  may  know  that  his  words  are  given  this  cast  of  pur- 
pose, with  discriminating  intent;  for  Bacon  notes  espe- 
cially, and  with  marked  appreciation,  this  special  charac- 
teristic of  Caesar.  In  his  Advancement  of  Learnbig, 
First  Book,  he  says  of  him : 

"  If  I  should  enumerate  divers  of  his  speeches,  as  I  did 
those  of  Alexander,  they  are  truly  such  as  Solomon  no- 
teth,  when  he  saith,  Verba  sapientiwi  tanquarn  aculei,  et 
tanquam  clavi  in  altum  defixi :  (the  words  of  the  wise  are 


AND    IT  IS    SHAKESPEARE.  2G'5 

as  goads,  and  as  nails  iixod  deep  in  :)  whereof  I  will  only 
recite  three,  not  so  delectable  for  elegancy,  but  admirable 
for  vigor  and  efficacy.  .  .  .  The  last  speech  which  I  will 
mention  v/as  used  to  Metullus ;  when  Caesar,  after  war 
declared,  did  possess  himself  of  Rome  ;  at  which  time 
entering  into  the  inner  treasury  to  take  the  money  there 
accumulate,  Metellus  being  tribune  forbade  him  :  whereto 
Caesar  said,  '  That  if  he  did  not  desist,  he  would  lay  him 
dead  in  the  place  ;'  and  presently  taking  himself  up  he 
added,  '  Young  man,  it  is  harder  for  me  to  speak  it  than 
to  do  it.'  Adolescens,  durius  est  mihi  hoc  dicere  quam 
facere.  A  speech  compounded  of  the  greatest  terror  and 
greatest  clemency  that  could  proceed  out  of  the  mouth  of 
man." 

But  there  is  another  quality,  equally  pronounced,  which 
pervades  these  utterances  ;  purposely  infused  into  them, 
because  of  its  subtly  significant  bearing  upon  Caesar's  ap- 
proaching fate  ;  affording  us  a  key  to  his  destiny,  as  it  is 
unfolded  in  the  play.  They  bespeak,  unmistakably,  an 
arrogant  pride,  an  exultant,  over-weening  self-confidence 
and  self-sufficiency.  In  his  De  Au(/mentis,  Eighth  Book, 
Bacon,  after  recounting  Timotheus'  lofty  utterance,  "  And 
in  this  fortune  had  no  part,"  and  its  unhappy  sequel,  con- 
tinues : 

"  For  this  is  too  high  and  too  arrogant,  savoring  of 
that  which  Ezekiel  says  of  Pharaoh,  '  Thou  sayest,  mine 
river  is  mine  own,  and  I  have  made  it  for  myself  ;'  or  that 
which  Habakkuk  says,  '  They  exult  and  offer  sacrifices  to 
their  net ;'  or  of  that  which  the  poet  expresses  of  Mezen- 
tius,  the  despiser  of  the  gods  : — 

'  Dextra  mihi  Deus,  et  felimi  qiiod  missile  libro 

Nunc  adsint.' 
['  My  own  right  hand  and  sword  assist  my  stroke, 

These  gods  Mezentius  will  invoke.'] 

"  Lastly,  Julius  Caesar  never,  as  far  as  I  recollect,  be- 
trayed the  weakness  of  his  secret  thoughts,  except  in  a 
similar  kind  of  speech.    For  when  the  augur  brought  him 


204  FRANCIS    BACON 

word  that  the  entrails  were  not  favorable,  he  murmured  in 
a  low  voice,  '  They  imll  he  morefaaorahle  when  I clioose  ;' 
which  speech  did  not  long  precede  the  misfortune  of  his 
death.  For  this  excess  of  confidence  was  ever  as  unlucky 
as  unhallowed. ""  * 

*  This  was  not  superstition  in  Bacon,  but  the  reverse.  It  was 
a  judgment  based  upon  the  close  observation  of  life  in  its  work- 
ings, as  disclosed  in  the  events  about  him,  in  history,  and  in 
the  Bible  ;  the  comprehension  of  somewhat  of  that  destiny  which 
underlies  human  affairs,  and  which  the  Greeks  made  the  con- 
trolling element  in  their  mightiest  Tragedies. 

And  even  as  we  write,  the  principle  has  possibly  received  an 
exemplification  in  our  own  midst,  though  under  a  much  milder 
provocation, —  merely  the  public,  confident  assertion  of  a  con- 
tinued hold  upon  life,  which  is  beyond  the  control  of  mortals. 
An  incident  attendant  upon  the  death  of  Carter  Harrison,  late 
Mayor  of  Chicago,  is  at  least  worthy  of  record  in  this  connection. 

The  Columbian  Exposition  was  approaching  its  close.  The 
city  was  in  the  full  tide  of  exultation  over  its  magnificent  success, 
achieved  by  really  herculean  labors.  It  was  an  hour  of  triumph, 
not  only  for  Chicago,  but  for  the  whole  people — the  awakening 
of  a  young  nation  to  a  consciousness  of  its  hitherto  undreamed 
of  powers.  Carter  Harrison  was  an  integral  part  of  the  city  : 
he  was  serving  his  fourth  term  as  its  Mayor,  elected  the  last 
time  by  an  overwhelming  majority.  Naturally  somewhat  ego- 
tistical, of  buoyant  spirits,  and  about  to  wed  again,  he  felt,  per- 
haps more  than  others,  the  exhilaration  attendant  upon  the  oc- 
casion. He  was  uplifted  by  his  exultant  joy.  And  in  an  elo- 
quent speech  to  the  assembled  Mayors  of  the  American  cities, 
he  said : 

"  /  intend  to  live  more  than  half  a  century^  and  at  the  end 
of  that  half  century,  London  will  be  trembling  lest  Chicago  shall 
surpass  it,  and  New  York  will  say,  '  Let  it  go  to  the  metropolis 
of  America.'  "  And  again:  "•/  myself  have  taken  a  new  lease 
of  life,  and  I  believe  I  shall  see  the  day  when  Chicago  will  be 
the  biggest  city  in  America,  and  the  third  city  on  the  face  of 
the  globe." 

But  that  night,  '  his  soul  was  required  of  him.'    He  was  shot 


AND    ITIS    SHAKESPEARE.  205 

Bat  now  Deeius  Brutus  enters  upon  the  scene,  in  oppo- 
sition to  Calpliurnia ;  and  well  does  he  fulfil  his  promise 
to  the  conspirators,  to  bring  Caesar  forth.  For  the  odds 
are  against  him.  Calphurnia  has  prevailed,  winning  from 
Csesar  the  promise, 

"Mark  Antony  shall  say  I  am  not  well; 
And,  for  thy  humor,  I  will  stay  at  honip." 

And  now  Cfesar  is  as  imperious  in  his  assertion  that  he 
will  not  go,  as  before  he  was  emphatic  in  his  avowal  that 
he  would : 

"  The  cause  is  in  my  will,  I  will  not  come ; 
That  is  enough  to  satisfy  the  senate." 

But  for  Decius'  "  private  satisfaction,"  and  because  of 
his  love  for  him,  he  tells  him  the  reason : 

"Calphurnia  here,  my  wife,  stays  me  at  home: 
She  dreamt  to-night  she  saw  my  statua, 
Which  like  a  fountain,  with  a  hundred  spouts, 
Did  run  pure  blood ;   and  many  lusty  Romans 
Came  smiling,  and  did  bathe  their  hands  in  it. 
And  these  does  she  apply  for  warnings,  and  portents, 
And  evils  imminent ;   and  on  her  knee 
Hath  begg'd  that  I  will  stay  at  home  to-day." 

But  Decius,  through  his  infernal  arts,  is  equal  to  the 
occasion.  He  gives  to  Calphurnia's  dream  another  and 
a  favorable  interpretation  ;  exquisitely  flattering  to  Caesar, 
and  which  he  cannot  but  accept : 

"  And  this  way  have  you  well  expounded  it." 

He  works  subtly  upon  his  inordinate  pride,  depicting 
vividly  the  mockery  that  is  sure  to  be  pointed  at  him.    He 

down,  in  his  own  home,  by  a  miserable  crank,  to  redress  a  fan- 
cied wrong,  suffered  in  the  Mayor's  refusal  of  an  appointment 
for  which  he  was  utterly  unqualified.  Chicago's  exultation  was 
dampened  in  her  grief,  and  her  joy  was  chastened  to  mourning; 
and  possibly,  in  her  Mayor's  tragic  death,  she  was  saved  from 
inviting  upon  herself  a  like  awful  fate. 


266  FRANCIS    BACON 

applies  the  torch  to  his  ambition,  and  alhires  him  by  the 

statement,  that 

"the  senate  have  conckuled 
To  give,  this  day,  a  crown  to  mighty  Caesar," 

though  he  purposes  "  this  day  "  his  death.* 

By  this  serpent-like,  beguiling  "  witchery,"  he  "  o'er- 
sways  "  the  "  mighty  Csesar  ";  drawing  him  forth  to  his 
doom. 

"  How  foolish  do  your  fears  seem  now,  Calphurnia! 
I  am  ashamed  I  did  yield  to  them. — 
Give  me  my  robe,  for  I  will  go :  — "f 

And  as  though  the  hand  of  Fate  were  visibly  pushing 
him  forward  into  destruction,  he  then  requests  Trebonius, 
one  of  the  conspirators,  to  be  near  him  this  day : 

"  Treb.  Caesar,  I  will : —  (aside)  and  so  near  will  I  be, 
That  your  best  friends  shall  wish  I  had  been  further." 

But  wherefore  this  vacillation,  so  sharply  outlined  in 
Caesar,  of  indomitable  will, — this  swaying  to  and  fro,  even 
as  the  weather-cock  responds  to  the  shifting  breeze, — and 
which  is  exhibited  again  in  his  ineffectual  dallying  vi\i\\ 
the  crown,  thrice  offered  him  by  Mark  Antony  ?  Of  what, 
in  itself,  is  it  a  manifestation  ? 

Vacillation  bespeaks  irresolution.    And  the  truth  is  that 

*  Casca,  however,  mentions  a  material  restriction,  which  would 
have  been  especially  distasteful  to  Caesar: 

"  Indeed  they  say  the  senators  to-morrow 
Mean  to  establish  Caesar  as  a  king : 
And  he  shall  wear  his  crown  by  sea  and  land, 
In  every  place  save  here  in  Italy.'' 
t  It  is  interesting  to  observe  that  this  disregard  of  ominous 
portents  and  warnings  is  a  characteristic  feature  of  the  ancient 
Greek  Tragedies :   "  The  Greek  poets  frequently  exhibited  tlie 
indifference  of  prosperous  persons  to  divine  monitions.    Cassan- 
dra's prophesies  were  not  attended  to  ;  the  Delphic  oracle  spoke 
in  vain ;  and  Teiresias  [the  soothsayer]  is  only  honored  when 
it  is  too  late." —  Studies  of  the  Greek  Poets,  by  John  Adding- 
ton  Symonds.     (Chapter  on  Sophocles.) 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  2G7 

Csesar,  as  revealed  in  the  play,  is  for  the  time  a  rudder- 
less ship.  And  this  for  the  simple  reason,  that  he  is  un- 
able as  yet  to  come  to  a  definite  determination. 

Once  before,  earlier  in  his  career,  he  confronted  a  like 
situation.  The  laws  of  Rome  prohibited  his  crossing 
the  Rubicon  with  his  army.  But  after  weighing-  every 
consideration  and  possible  contingency,  he  finally  came  to 
a  settled  conclusion.  And  thereafter,  his  course  was 
straightforward  :  he  advanced  unfalteringly,  with  constant, 
inflexible  resolution. 

But  now  his  demeanor  is  altogether  different.  He  eag- 
erly covets  the  crown  ;  involving  the  absolute  destruction 
of  the  republic.  But  for  some  potent  reason  —  perhaps 
because  of  a  reasonable  doubt  of  success,  or  possibly  ow- 
ing to  some  subtle  restraint— he  hesitates :  he  is  un-willing 
to  resort  to  violence :  he  does  not  see  his  way  clear  to  the 
attainment  of  his  desire.     He  unmistakably  falters. 

His  Desire  is  vehement.  The  crown  is  dangling  just 
before  him  :  and  to  be  king  in  Rome  is  to  be  king  of  the 
known  world,  —  an  incomparable  dignity.  His  actual 
power  is  tremendous,  his  will  indomitable,  imperious  :  but 
the  vision  which  guides  it  is  confused  ;  it  cannot  see  the 
way  to  his  gratification.  He  is  balked  :  and  yet  he  must 
obey  his  reason.  Thvis  Caesar  also  is  "with  himself  at  war": 
he  is  in  a  tumult  within,  under  the  boundings  of  his  curbed 
desire. 

He  loses,  in  a  measure,  his  equipoise.  He  who  was  wont 
to  act  from  within,  with  self-originating,  intelligently  di- 
rected effort,  under  the  clear-visioned  guidance  of  his 
reason,  now  incited  by  his  urgent  desire,  turns  half-helj)- 
lessly  to  the  exterior  world  ;  trusting  that,  somehow,  the 
pathway  will  be  opened  to  its  gratification.  But  reliance 
upon  the  favorable  concurrence  of  events  differs  but  little, 
in  its  reflex  action,  from  trust  in  "  the  chapter  of  acci- 
dents."    And  by  a  law  of  man's  nature,  such  a  depend- 


268  FRANCIS    BACON 

ence  tends,  almost  inevitably,  to  breed  superstition.  This 
is  why  gamblers,  as  a  class,  are  so  invariably  superstitious. 
And  conversely,  Caesar's  pronounced  change  towards  su- 
perstition indicates,  almost  unmistakably,  this  correspond- 
ing change  in  his  mental  attitude. 

He  turns  to  the  people,  in  the  hope  that  they  will  aid 
him,  —  only  to  find  that  the  pojndace  of  Rome  does  not 
want  a  king.  His  judgment,  which  prevents  his  acce])- 
tance  of  the  proffered  crown,  is  thus  possibly  confirmed ; 
but  his  desire  is  baffled,  and 

"  Tlie  angry  spot  doth  glow  on  Caesar's  brow ;  " 
and  in  sympathy, 

"  all  the  rest  look  like  a  chidden  train." 
Moreover,  Caesar's  suppressed  anger,  Calphurnia's  sym- 
pathetic paleness,  and  the  "  chidden  "  appearance  of  his 
train,  all  bespeak  a  consciousness  of  weakness.    Somehow 
Caesar  is  not  master  of  the  situation. 

But  there  is  yet  another  possible  contingency :  and 
this  fateful  day,  Caesar  is  allured  to  the  Capitol,  in  the 
expectation  that  the  Senate  will  grant  him  the  crown. 
And  thenceforward,  Caesar  rushing  headlong  to  his  doom, 
is  the  motive  in  his  further  delineation. 

The  finger  of  Fate,  in  the  very  beginning,  points  the 
way.  Upon  his  first  appearance,  he  hears  in  the  throng 
"  a  tongue,  shriller  than  all  the  music,"  crying  "  Caesar  !  " 
and  commands,  "  Speak  !  " 

'■^Soothsayer.  Beware  the  ides  of  March! 

Ccesar.   What  man  is  that? 

Brutus.  A  soothsayer,  bids  you  beware  the  ides  of  March. 

Ca'sar.  Set  him  before  me ;  let  me  see  his  face. 

Casca.   Fellow,  come  from  the  throng :  look  upon  Caesar. 

Ccesar.  What  say'st  thou  to  me  now?    Speak  once  again. 

Sooth.  Beivare  the  ides  of  March. 

Ccesar.   He  is  a  dreamer  ;  let  us  leave  him ;  —  pass." 

This  ominous  date  is  again  noted  by  Brutus,  who  says 
to  Lucius : 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  269 

"Is  not  to-morrow,  boy,  the  ides  of  March?     [iJ^A.] 
Lucius.  I  know  not,  sir. 
Bnitus.  Look  in  the  calendar,  and  bring  me  word. 

Liicius.  I  will,  sir 

Sii',  March  is  wasted  fourteen  days." 

And  on  his  way  to  the  Capitol,  Caesar  remarks : 

"The  ides  of  March  are  come. 
Sooth.  Ay,  Cjesar,  but  not  gone." 

Meanwhile,  the  exterior  forces  that  are  to  work  his  de- 
struction have  converged  to  a  focus.  The  instruments 
are  prepared :  the  sword  is  already  poised  for  the  blow. 
The  malevolent  Cassius,  who  originates  the  conspiracy, 
has  been  untiring  in  activity.  Walking  the  streets  at 
night,  "keeping  no  holiday,"  working  "  subtilely  and  in  the 
dark,"  he  has  at  last,  by  his  devilish  arts,  gained  sufficient 
adherents  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  murderous  pur- 
pose. And  in  addition,  there  is  secured  through  Brutus 
the  valued  aid  of  Caius  Ligarius,  who 

"dotli  bear  Caesar  hai-d, 
Who  rated  him  for  speaking  well  of  Pompey." 

The  conspirators  meet  at  night  under  the  shadow  of 
Pompey 's  porch,  or  as  it  is  again  called,  "  Pompey's  thea- 
tre"; and  again  at  Brutus'  house,  where  they  receive  his 
formal  adherence,  and  perfect  their  plans  for  the  morrow. 
And  now  all  but  Cassius  have  assembled  at  Caesar's  pal- 
ace, to  accompany  him  to  the  Capitol. 

Csesar,  utterly  blinded  to  their  deadly  intent,  greets 
these  "  friends  "  each  kindly  by  name,  with  a  gentle  word 
even  for  Ligarius : 

"  Csesar  was  ne'er  so  much  your  enemy, 
As  that  same  ague  which  hath  made  you  lean." 

He  takes  the  blame  for  the  delay  upon  himself,  and 
generously  bids  them, 

"  Good  friends,  go  in,  and  taste  some  wine  with  me ; 
And  we,  like  friends,  will  straightway  go  together." 


270  FRANCIS    BACON 

Even  Brutus  is  touched :  but  his  regret  finds  its  sur- 
cease in  his  logic : 

"  (Aside.)  That  every  like  is  not  the  same,  O  Caesar, 
The  heart  of  Brutus  yearns  to  think  upon," 

and  they  j)ass  out  to  the  Capitol. 

"  W7)07n  the  gods  would  destroy  they  first  make  madJ^ 
This  was  never  better  illustrated  than  in  Caesar,  in  his 
portrayal  in  the  play.  He  is  entering,  as  he  fondly  be- 
lieves, upon  his  hour  of  supreme  triumph, — his  enthrone- 
ment upon  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  earth.  In  the  exhil- 
eration  accompanying  such  a  culmination,  he  loses  his 
equipoise :  he  is  exalted  above  himself ;  elevated  to  the 
heights  of  a  Titanic  egotism,  with  its  attendant  intoxica- 
tion. 

And  strange  to  say,  excessive  egotism,  as  physicians 
tell  us,  is  an  inchoate  form  of  madness,  —  the  germ  of 
many  of  its  developments.  It  is  essentially  an  illusion,  a 
"•  fixed  idea,"  engendered  by  a  man's  lofty  imagination. 
This  peculiar  work  of  the  imagination  is  admirably  exem- 
plified in  Caesar's  case, — -even  in  the  very  manifestations 
of  his  egotism.     Thus  Decius  says: 

"  Wlien  I  tell  him  he  hates  flatterers, 
He  says  he  does;   being  then  most Jiatte red.'' 

Again,  he  is  loudest  in  his  lofty  protestations  of  per- 
sonal indifference  to  superstitious  influences,  at  the  very 
moment  when  he  yields  to  them, 

"  For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late." 
And  yet  again,  the  very  morning  when  he  exhibits  such 
marked  vacillation,  he  imperiously  declares  to  the  vSenatc : 
''  But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star, 
Of  whose  true-tix'd  and  resting  quality 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament." 

Again,  inordinate  egotism  is  a  subtle  form  of  self-adula- 
tion :  it  is  ''  unhallowed,"  an  idolatry  that  is  especially 
offensive  to  the  Powers  above.     It  somehow  invites  de- 


AKD    IJIS    SHAKESPEARE.  271 

struction, —  ofttimes  procuring  it,  through  its  very  mani- 
festations. And  thus  Caesar,  as  if  impelled  by  the  gods, 
ministers  directly  to  his  ruin. 

Many  of  us  have  witnessed,  in  actual  life,  instances 
where  men  have  conducted  themselves  with  such  reckless 
foolishness  or  brazen  effrontery  that  we  have  exclaimed, 
"  He  must  be  demented  "  :  when,  in  fact,  the  very  acts  which 
called  forth  the  exclamation  were  in  themselves  the  initial 
workings  of  a  rapidly  approaching  retribution.  And  in 
just  such  an  apparent  perversity  —  the  irony  of  fate  — 
Csesar,  in  his  hour  of  intoxication,  by  his  very  arrogance, 
nerves  the  conspirators  to  their  task.  In  a  boldness  of 
conception  quite  unsurpassed,  but  which  attests  the  tran- 
scendent genius  of  the  Artist  and  his  profound  insight, 
Caesar  is  made  to  "  turn  his  back  "  upon  his  past,  and  the 
principles  which  heretofore  had  regulated  his  conduct,  and 
to  enact  before  the  assembled  conspirators  the  very  role 
assigned  him  by  Cassius  and  accepted  by  Brutus : 

"  and  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  god." 

They  are  now  assembled  in  the  Capitol,  and  Caesar 

arrogantly  inquires  : 

"  What  is  now  amiss, 
That  Caesar  and  his  Senate  must  redress?" 

Metellus  Cimber,  one  of  the  conspirators,  makes  suit 
for  the  recall  of  his  banished  brother.  Kneeling  before 
Caesar  he  commences : 

"  Most  high,  most  mighty,  and  most  puissant  Caesar, 
Metellus  Cimber  throws  before  thy  seat 
A  humble  heart :  —  " 

But  Caesar  interrupts : 

"  I  must  prevent  thee,  Cimber. 
These  couchings,  and  these  lowly  courtesies, 
Might  fire  the  blood  of  ordinary  men, 
And  turn  preordinance,  and  liist  decree. 
Into  the  law  of  children.     Bo  not  fond, 


272  FRANCIS    BACON 

To  think  that  Caesar  bears  such  rebel  blood, 

That  will  be  thaw'd  from  the  true  quality 

With  that  which  melteth  fools ;  I  mean,  sweet  words, 

Low-crooked  curtsies,  and  base  spaniel-fawning. 

Thy  brother  by  decree  is  banished ; 

If  thou  dost  bend,  and  pray,  and  fawn,  for  him, 

I  spurn  thee,  like  a  cur,  out  of  my  way. 

Know,  Ccesar  doth  not  wrong:  nor  without  cause 

Will  he  be  satisfied." 

Brutus  intercedes  in  vain,  and  Cassius  also,  to  whom 
Caesar  replies : 

"  I  could  be  well  mov'd  if  I  were  as  you ; 
If  I  could  pray  to  move,  prayers  would  move  me : 
But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star. 
Of  whose  true-fix'd  and  resting  quality 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 
The  skies  are  painted  with  unnumber'd  sparks, 
They  are  all  fire,  and  every  one  doth  shine; 
But  there  's  but  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  place : 
So,  in  the  world ;    't  is  f urnish'd  well  with  men. 
And  men  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  apprehensive ; 
Yet,  in  the  number,  I  do  know  but  one 
That  unassailable  holds  on  his  rank. 
Unshaken  of  motion :   and,  that  I  am  he, 
Let  me  a  little  show  it, —  even  in  this, 
That  I  was  constant  Cimber  should  be  banish'd, 
And  constant  do  remain  to  keep  him  so." 

Cinna  also  pleads  ;  but  Caesar  impiously  cries : 
"  Hence  !   iv'dt  thou  lift  up  Ohjmjrus ?  " 

The  infuriated  conspirators  press  upon  Caesar ;  they 
stab  him,  Brutus  last  of  all.  Caesar  exclaims,  "  M  tu 
Brute^'"  and  expires.  Fate,  that  awful  figure  that  all  the 
time  has  been  looming  up  in  the  dim  background,  now 
advances  to  the  front,  and  as  by  a  visible  push  of  her  arm, 
Caesar  is  thrown  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue : 

"  And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statua, 
Which  all  the  wliile  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  27.S 

And  Pompey,  Cresav's  forniei' friend  and  son-in-law,  whom 
lit'  had  long  before  overthrown  and  driven  to  his  death,  is 
thus  finally  avenged. 

In  the  excitement  of  the  moment,   Brutus'  logic  again 
runs  riot.     Cassius  remarking, 

"  Why,  he  that  cuts  off  twenty  years  of  life, 
Cuts  off  so  many  years  of  fearing  death," 

Brutus  rejjlies : 

••  Grrant  that,  and  then  is  death  a  benefit, 
So  are  we  Caesar's  friends,  that  have  abridged 
His  time  of  fearing  death." 
The  conspirators,  in  their  drunken  fury,  bathe  their 
hands  in  Caesar's  blood,  "  up  to  the  elbows,"  and  rush 
forth,  crying,  '■'■Peace,  Freedom,  and  Liberty!^'  a  shout 
that  later  found  its  echo  in  the  bloody  drama  of  the  French 
Revolution  ;  drawing  forth  from  Madame  Roland,  on  her 
way  to  the  guillotine,  its  appropriate  answering  cry,  also 
ringing  through  the  ages  :  "  O  Liberty  !  lohat  crimes  are 
committed  in  thy  name  !  " 


18 


274  FRANCIS    BACON 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  physical  tragedy  is  wrought :  and  a  less  consummate 
artist  would  either  have  here  ended  the  play,  or  else  con- 
tinuing it,  have  failed  thereafter  to  sustain  the  interest. 
But  to  the  mighty  intellect  that  had  conceived  and  devel- 
oped Brutus'  fatal  error  and  crime  as  the  direct  outgrowth 
of  his  unfortified  constitutional  weakness,  when  assailed 
by  a  malignant  force  centred  thereon,  the  action  was  as 
yet  incomplete.  The  conspirators  must  be  shown  to  have 
drawn  upon  themselves  a  fearful  retribution. 

Dante,  indeed,  looking  through  the  ruby  gate  of  imag- 
ination into  the  fires  of  hell,  saw,  last  of  all,  and  portrayed 
in  an  ideal  retribution,  Cassius  and  Brutus  plunged  into 
its  lowermost  pit  and  there  held  in  the  mouths  of  the  three- 
faced  Lucifer,  in  grinding  torment : 

"  At  every  mouth  he  with  his  teeth  was  crunching 
A  sinner,  in  the  manner  of  a  brake, 
So  that  he  three  of  them  tormented  thus. 
To  him  in  front  the  biting  was  as  naught 
Unto  the  clawing,  for  sometimes  the  spine 
Utterly  stripped  of  all  the  skin  remained. 
'That  soul  up  there  which  has  the  greatest  pain,' 
The  Master  said,  '  is  Judas  Iscavlot ; 
With  head  inside,  he  plies  his  legs  without. 
Of  the  two  others,  who  head  downward  are, 

The  one  who  hangs  from  the  black  jowl  is  Brutus ; 
vSee  how  he  writhes  himself,  and  speaks  no  word. 
And  the  other,  who  so  stalwart  seems,  is  Cassius. 
But  night  is  reascending,  and  'tis  time 
That  we  depart,  for  we  have  seen  the  whole.'  " 

— Inferno,  Longfellow's  Translation. 


AND    HIS    SnAKESPEAEE.  275 

But  Bacon,  as  we  have  seen,  by  the  very  cast  of  his 
personality,  and  through  the  clarity  of  his  vision,  laid  hold 
upon  and  gave  expression  to  the  life  that  now  is — our  life 
—  in  its  complex  realities,  and  in  the  subtle  workings  of 
the  retributive  forces  that  ofttimes  shape  its  destinies. 
And  it  is  upon  th'ese  lines  that  the  development  of  the  play 
proceeds. 

In  the  powerful  Tragedies  of  ancient  Greece,  whose  pro- 
duction marked  its  Golden  Age,  the  controlling  element 
in  the  action  was  an  irresistible  destiny,  in  whose  coils 
man  was  infolded,  and  which,  struggle  as  he  might,  he 
could  not  avert ;  his  very  efforts  ministering  to  the  fatal 
end, — a  doom  decreed  by  the  gods,  in  retribution  for  some 
former  violent  deed  ;  sometimes  even  one  divorced  from  a 
guilty  intent.  (See  Schlegel's  Dramatic  Literature.) 
This  ancient  Tragedy  is  thoroughly  mastered,  its  agencies 
grasped  and  its  spirit  caught,  long  prior  to  its  critical  ex- 
position in  modern  times  ;  and  in  this  play,  cast  amid  an- 
cient scenes,  it  is  grandly  paralleled.  Its  spirit  is  reem- 
bodied,  in  this  magnificent  portrayal  of  Csesar  advancing 
inevitably,  in  disregard  of  portents  and  warnings,  and  with 
determined  strides,  straight  to  the  doom  prepared  for  him 
by  the  gods,  in  retribution  for  his  former  destruction  of 
Pompey. 

But  over  and  beyond  this,  in  the  further  development 
of  the  theme,  in  the  unfolding  of  the  destiny  of  Cassius, 
and  of  Brutus  also,  this  modern  masterpiece  marks  a  dis- 
tinct advance  upon  the  conception  and  methods  of  the 
ancients, —  an  advance  evincing  a  mightier  grasp  of  life 
and  its  mystery,  a  clearer  insight  into  its  subtler  workings, 
and  a  broader,  keener  comprehension  of  its  realities.* 

*  Certainly  as  regards  ^schylus :  but  as  to  Sophocles,  the 
advance,  though  real,  might  be  regarded  by  some  as  less  dis- 
tinctly marked.  Thus,  Symonds,  in  his  luminous  Studies  of 
the  Greek  Poets,  discussing  Sophocles'  (Edipus  Ti/rannis,  con- 


27G  FRANCIS    BACON 

In  its  portrayal  in  the  play,  Cassias'  righteous  doom,  en- 
meshing both  himself  and  Brutus,  is  wrought  through  the 
direct  instrumentality  and  operation  of  the  very  forces  he 
employed  so  effectively,  and  with  such  malign  intent,  to 
accomplish  Caesar's  death, —  thus  exemplifying,  through 
its  developments  in  this  life,  the  fundamental  fact, 
"  That  sin  in  man  the  plague  of  sin  must  be." 

The  process  commences,  or  at  least,  is  distinctly  fore- 
shadowed, in  the  very  hour  of  the  consummation  of  his 
purpose,  at  the  moment  when  Caesar's  life  is  in  the  bal- 
ance. Bacon  observes,  as  we  remember,  that,  "  Fascina- 
tion is  the  power  and  act  of  Imagination  intensive  upon 
the  body  of  another."  This  peculiar  power  had  been  util- 
ized, most  effectively,  by  Cassius,  in  moulding  Brutus  to  his 
purpose.  And  this  was  accomplished,  primarily,  through 
the  very  intensity  of  his  vivid  imagination,  whose  force 

tends,  with  much  force,  that  he  wrought  out  doom  as  "  the  nat- 
ural consequence  of  moral,  physical,  and  intellectual  qualities  "; 
that  "  he  delights  in  exhibiting  the  blindness  of  arrogance  and 
self-confidence,  and  in  showing  that  characters  determined  by 
these  qualities  rush  recklessly  to  their  own  doom ";  and  that 
"  he  made  it  clear  that  the  characters  of  men  constitute  their 
fatality."  But  nevertheless,  the  fact  remains,  that  the  dominant 
TTiotive  in  his  tragedy,  the  theme  given  development,  is  the  spe- 
cific, and  indeed  marvellous  fulfilment  of  the  doom-pronouncing 
oracles  emanating  from  the  gods;  one  of  them  even  before 
(Edipus'  birth.  And  as  Symonds  afterwards  candidly  remarks : 
"  Sophocles  unfolds  schemes  and  sequences  of  doomed  events, 
where  individual  wills  and  passions  play  indeed  their  part,  but 
where  they  are  subordinated  to  the  idea  which  the  tragedian 
undertakes  to  illustrate.  .  .  .  The  antique  drama  aims  at  the 
presentation  of  tragic  situations,  determined  and  controlled  by 
some  mysterious  force  superior  to  the  agents.  The  modern  aims 
at  the  presentation  of  tragic  situations,  immediately  produced 
and  brought  about  by  the  free  action  of  the  dramatis  p^rsonte." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  277 

was  centred  upon  Brutus.  And  now,  when  the  conspira- 
tors are  assembled  before  Caesar,  and  Popilius,  an  out- 
sider, advances  and  speaks  to  him  privately,  Cassius'  im- 
agination is  awakened  to  its  characteristic  intense  activity. 
He  instantly  associates  Popilius'  act  with  his  preceding- 
remark, 

"  I  wish  your  enterprise  to-day  may  thrive," 
and  pictures  to  himself,  in  the  vividness  of  a  reality,  Pop- 
ilius disclosing  to  Caesar  their  plot.  A  vision  of  the  ter- 
rible consequences  involved  flashes  before  him.  And  the 
whole  fabric  wrought  by  his  imagination  is  so  awful,  so 
appalling  in  its  vivid  realization,  that,  in  expressive  par- 
lance, "he  goes  all  to  pieces,"  and  threatens  suicide  upon 
the  spot.  The  very  intensity  of  Cassius'  imagination, — 
the  source  of  his  malignant  power, — by  the  working  of  a 
natural  law,  is  becoming  in  him  a  disorganizing  force,  and 
its  present  manifestation  is  distinctly  premonitory  of  the 
method  of  his  ultimate  destruction. 

Again,  Cassius  envenoms  Brutus  against  Caesar,  and 
thus  procures  his  adherence  to  the  conspirators,  with  the 
intent  to  utilize  his  established  influence  with  the  people 
to  ensure  their  safety,  after  Caesar's  death : 

"  O,  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people's  hearts : 
And  that  which  would  appear  offense  in  us, 
His  countenance,  like  richest  alchemy, 
Will  change  to  virtue  and  to  woi'thiness." 

But  not  only  does  he  utterly  fail  them  in  this  respect, 
but  in  the  very  hour  of  their  success,  he  becomes,  unwit- 
tingly, the  direct  instrumentality  in  effecting  their  rejec- 
tion and  overthrow  by  the  people. 

Indeed,  Brutus'  very  blindness,  which  before  was  so 
serviceable  to  Cassius,  now  ministers  to  his  ruin.  And 
Cassius'  own  peculiar  weapon  is  also  turned  against  him- 
self. Antony's  servant  enters,  bearing  a  message  from  his 
master,  addressed  to  Brutus : 


278  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  Brutus  is  noble,  wise,  valiant,  and  honest: 

If  Brutus  will  vouchsafe  that  Antony 
May  safely  come  to  him,  and  be  resolv'd 
How  Caesar  hath  deserv'd  to  lie  in  death, 
Mark  Antony  shall  not  love  Caesar  dead 
So  well  as  Brutus  living,  but  will  follow 
The  fortunes  and  affairs  of  noble  Brutus 
Through  the  hazards  of  this  untrod  state, 
With  all  true  faith." 

Brutus  is  touched  to  the  quick  by  this  subtle  appeal  to 
his  reco(jnized  nobility,  "  being  then  most  flattered,"  and 
replies : 

"  Thy  master  is  a  wise  and  valiant  Roman ; 
I  never  thought  him  worse. 
Tell  him,  so  please  him,  come  unto  this  jjlace, 
He  shall  be  satisfied ;  and,  by  my  honor, 
Depart  untouch'd." 

And  he  confidently  exclaims, 

"  I  know  that  we  shall  -have  him  well  to  friend." 

Antony  appears,  asking  that  he  may  speak  at  (^aisar's 
funeral,  and  Brutus  makes  haste  to  grant  his  request ;  over- 
riding the  strenuous  opposition  of  Cassius,  who  finds,  too 
late,  that  like  the  magician  of  old,  he  has  summoned  to 
his  aid,  as  by  enchantment,  a  Genii  of  powerful  will,  who 
is  become  his  master,  and  is  blindly  leading  him  to  de- 
struction. 

Later,  the  citizens  are  gathered  at  the  funeral,  and 
Brutus  addresses  them.  In  his  Advancenumt  of  Learn- 
ing^ Second  Book,  Bacon  keenly  observes: 

"  So  that  there  is  no  such  artificer  of  dissimulation,  nor 
no  such  commanded  countenance  (vuUi/sJNs.'</ft< )  that  can 
sever  from  a  feigned  tale  some  of  these  fashions;  cither 
a  more  slight  and  careless  fashion,  or  more  t^et  (iiidfornial^ 
or  more  tedious  and  wandering,  or  coming  from  a  man 
more  drily  and  hardly ^ 

And  though  Brutus  is  by  no  means  consciously  disscm- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  270 

Lling  in  his  speech,  the  whole  fabric  of  his  thought  is  an 
ingrained  falsity.  He  has  deceived  himself ;  and,  in  a 
word,  he  is  now  applying  the  same  deception  to  the  people. 

"  And  since  the  quarrel 
Will  bear  no  color  for  the  thing  he  is, 
Fashion  it  t/ms: " 
"  And  let  our  hearts,  as  subtle  masters  do, 
Stir  up  their  servants  to  an  act  of  rage, 
And  after  seem  to  chide  them.    This  shall  make 
Our  purpose  necessary,  and  not  envious : 
AVhich  so  appearing  to  the  common  eyes, 
We  shall  be  call'd  purgers,  not  murderers." 

Here  we  have  the  explanation  of  the  hard,  dry,  set, 
formal,  artificial  quality  of  his  sentences,  so  often  noted 
by  the  commentators,  and  so  apparent  to  the  sensitive  ear : 

"  Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers !  hear  me  for  my 
cause ;  and  be  silent,  that  you  may  hear :  believe  me  for 
mine  honor:  and  have  respect  to  mine  honor,  that  you 
may  believe :  censure  me  in  your  wisdom  ;  and  awake 
your  senses,  that  you  may  the  better  Judge.  ...  As 
Caesar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I 
rejoice  at  it ;  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor  him ;  but  as  ho 
was  ambitious,  I  slew  him.  There  is  tears  for  his  love ; 
joy  for  his  fortune  ;  honor  for  his  valor ;  and  death  for 
his  ambition.  .  .  .  The  question  of  his  death  is  enrolled 
in  the  Capitol ;  his  glory  not  extenuated,  wherein  he  was 
worthy  ;  nor  his  offences  enforced,  for  which  he  suffered 
death." 

Brutus'  influence,  from  which  so  much  had  been  ex- 
pected, was  thus,  in  reality,  paralyzed,  poisoned  at  its  foun- 
tain head ;  and  his  sj^eech,  by  the  operation  of  natural 
causes,  was  a  jjredestined  failure.* 

*  "  And  so  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  no  less  truly  said  of  the 
wicked,  'His  own  manners  will  be  his  punishment.'  Secondly, 
men  in  projecthig  their  schemes  and  diffusing  their  thoughts 
abroad  on  every  side,  in  order  to  fovec^ast  and  advance  their 
fortunes,  ought,  in  the  midst  of  these  Jllyhts  of  the  mind,  to  look 


280  FKANCIS    BACON 

Its  momentary,  evanescent  influence  upon  the 
"  Inconstant  people,  never  constant  known," 
resulting  in  their  impulsive  proffer  of  Ctesar's  mantle  to 
Brutus  "  croian'dr  both  reveals  the  quixotic  character  of 
his  enterprise,  and  suggests,  indeed,  the  bare  possibility 
of  the  conspirator's  salvation,  but  for  Brutus'  fatal  blun- 
der in  permitting  Antony  to  speak. 

Mark  Antony,  whom  Brutus  had  so  blindly  underrated, 
has  been  awakened  from  his  seeming  lethargy,  by  the 
shock  of  his  beloved  Caesar's  atrocious  murder.*  Its  direct 
consequence  is  the  quickening  of  all  his  powers  into  intense 
activity.  He  becomes  the  Nemesis  of  the  conspirators  ; 
and  "  Caesar's  arm  "  avenges  Caesar's  death. 

In  the  prosecution  of  his  purpose,  he  becomes,  in  a  two- 
fold sense,  an  actor  upon  the  stage.  He  employs  Cassias' 
own  arts  against  Cassius.  Like  him,  and  with  like  intent, 
he  deals  in  "  intensive  "  manifestations. 

To  accomplish  his  purpose,  he  must  first  gain  a  iioii 
sto :  he  must  win  from  the  conspirators  the  opportunity 
to  address  the  people.  And  to  this  end,  he  follows  up  his 
cajoling  message  to  Brutus,  by  appearing  before  them  in 
person,  even  while  they  are  under  the  most  intense  excite- 
ment. He  makes  the  like  supreme,  and  supremely  effect- 
ive manifestation,  by  the  proffer  of  his  own  life : 

up  to  the  Eternal  Providence  and  Divine  Judgment,  which  often 
overthrows  and  brings  to  naught  the  machinations  and  evil  de- 
signs of  the  wicked,  however  deeply  laid;  according  to  that 
Scripture,  '  He  hath  conceived  mischief,  and  shall  bring  forth 
a  vain  thing.'  " — De  Auymentis,  Eighth  Book. 

"  Next,  your  Lordship  goeth  against  three  of  the  unluckiest 
vices  of  all  others.  Disloyalty,  Ingratitude,  and  Insolency  ;  which 
three  offences,  in  all  examples,  have  seldom  their  doom  ad- 
journed to  the  world  to  come." — Advice  to  Essex. 

*  "  Wars  also  undertaken  for  a  just  revenge  have  almost  al- 
ways been  successful ;  as  the  war  against  Brutus  and  Cassius  to 
avenge  the  murder  of  Caesar."— i'c  Augmentis.,  Second  Book. 


AND    HIS    SHAKEISFEARE.  281 

"  I  know  not,  gentlemen,  what  you  intend, 
Who  else  must  be  let  blood,  who  else  is  rank : 
If  I  myself,  there  is  no  hour  so  fit 
As  Caesar's  death  hour ;   nor  no  instrument 
Of  half  that  worth  as  these  your  swords,  made  rich 
With  the  most  noble  blood  of  all  this  world. 
I  do  beseech  ye,  if  ye  bear  me  hard, 
Now,  whilst  your  purpled  hands  do  reek  and  smoke. 
Fulfil  your  pleasure.     Live  a  thousand  years, 
I  shall  not  find  myself  so  apt  to  die : 
No  place  will  please  me  so,  no  mean  of  death, 
As  here  by  Caesar,  and  by  you  cut  off, 
The  choice  and  master  spirits  of  this  aye.' 

Brutus  is  melted : 

"  O,  Antony,  beg  not  your  death  of  us. 

For  your  part. 

To  you  our  swords  have  leaden  points,  Mark  Antony : 
Our  arms  no  strength  of  malice,  and  our  hearts, 
Of  brothers'  temper,  do  receive  you  in 
With  all  kind  love,  good  thoughts,  and  reverence." 

And  Cassius  characteristically  adds : 

"  Your  voice  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  man's 
In  the  disposing  of  new  dignities." 

Brutus  promises  to  make  all  clear  ;  and  Antony  "doubts 
not  his  w^isdom  ";  giving  manifestation  to  his  confidence 
in  their  rectitude,  and  to  his  friendship,  by  shaking  the 
"  purpled  hands  "  of  the  conspirators,  and  addressing  them 
each  kindly  by  name.  He  secures  the  desired  promise  : 
but  upon  the  departure  of  the  conspirators,  his  pent  uj) 
feelings  and  his  hatred  burst  forth  in  a  torrent  of  hot  in- 
vective,—  which,  in  its  energy  of  execration,  reminds  us 
of  the  dreadful  curses  heaped  upon  the  murderer  of  King 
Laius  and  all  those  sheltering  him,  by  G^dipus,  in  Soph- 
ocles' Tragedy : 

"  O,  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers! 
Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man 


282  FRANCIS    BACON 

That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times.* 
Over  thy  wounds  now  do  I  prophesy, — 
Which,  like  dumb  mouths,  do  ope  their  ruby  lips, 
To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue, — 
A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men ; 
Domestic  fury,  and  fierce  civil  strife, 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy : 
Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use, 
And  dreadful  objects  so  familiar, 
That  mothers  shall  but  smile  when  they  behold 
Their  infants  quarter'd  with  the  hands  of  war ; 
All  pity  chok'd  with  custom  of  fell  deeds : 
And  Cjesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge, 
With  Ate  by  his  side,  come  hot  from  hell, 
y^  Shall  in  these  confines,  with  a  monarch's  voice, 

Cry  '•Havoc!'  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war; 
That  this  foul  deed  shall  smell  above  the  earth 
With  carrion  men,  groaning  for  burial."  t 


*  See  Bacon's  enconium  of  Caesar,  in  his  Advancement  of 
Learning,  First  Book,  where  he  speaks  of  him  as  one  of  the 
"  wonders  of  time." 

t  There  is  an  exquisite  appropriateness  in  this  reference  to 
Ate.  "  ATE  in  Greek  3Iytholo(jij,  a  personification  of  crim- 
inal follij  (Iliad,  XIX.,  01).  Slie  had  misled  even  Zeus  to 
take  a  hasty  oath,  when  Heracles  was  born,  for  which,  seeing 
his  folly,  he  cast  her  by  the  hair  out  of  Olympus,  whither  she 
did  not  again  return."  Enc.  Brit.  "  Justice  and  Insolence  and 
Ate  no  longer  floated,  dream-like,  in  the  back-ground  of  relig- 
ious thought ;  he  [^schylus]  gave  them  a  pedigree,  connected 
them  in  a  terrible  series,  and  established  them  as  ministers  of 
supreme  Zeus." — Studies  of  the  Greek  Poets,  hy  John  Adding- 
ton  Symonds. 

Craik,  in  his  The  Eiiglish  of  Shakespeare,  commenting  upon 
the  above  line,  pertinently  asks :  "  Where  did  Shakespeare  get 
acquainted  with  this  divinity,  whose  name  does  not  occur,  I  be- 
lieve, even  in  any  Latin  author?"  Only  those  of  us  who  have 
attempted  the  study  of  Greek,  and  after  months  of  application, 
have  utterly  failed  to  master  this  most  difficult  of  languages, 
can  really  appreciate  the  inherent  force  of  this  query. 

Bacon  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the  Greek  Tragedies,  im- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  283 

Antony  in  character,  in  its  quality  and  the  direction  of 
its  development,  is  at  the  opposite  pole  from  Brutus. 
Higher,  spiritual  aspirations  are  wanting,  the  edge  of 
scrupulous  honor  is  dull,  and  considerations  of  duty  press 
but  lightly  upon  him  ;  while  the  opinion  held  of  him  by 
others  is  comparatively  a  matter  of  indifference.  His  is 
an  highly  sensuous  nature,  reveling  in  the  present,  strong 
in  its  hold  upon  earth  and  its  joys,  and  rich  in  its  fruition. 
And  at  the  core  of  this  nature  there  is  a  heart  of  intense 
warmth : 

"  I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying  ;  only 
I  here  importune  death  a  while,  until 
Of  many  thousand  kisses  the  poor  last 
I  lay  upon  thy  lips. — " 

His  defects,  unchecked,  like  Brutus'  at  the  opposite  ex- 
treme,  become  the  source  and  occasion  of  his  ruin ;  as  is 
afterwards  developed  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra. 

And  now  the  heart  of  this  wild  player,  this  "  masker  and 
reveler,"  *  is  a  seething  fire  ;  as  witness  its  outburst  of 

bibing  their  spirit;  as  is  shown,  incidentally,  in  the  following 
remark :  "  So  the  poets  in  Tragedies  do  make  the  most  passion- 
ate lamentations,  and  those  \\\Vii  fore-ruti  final  despair,  to  be  ac- 
cusing, questioning,  and  torturing  of  a  man's  self." —  Colors  of 
Good  and  Evil. 

*  Possibly  these  words  were  subtly  colored  with  a  peculiar 
significance  to  the  English  people,  in  the  Elizabethan  age.  Sped- 
ding  writes :  "  On  Tuesday  (says  Chamberlain,  writing  on  the 
18th  of  February,  1612-3)  it  came  to  Gray's  Inn  and  the  In- 
ner Temple's  turn  to  come  with  their  masque,  whereof  Sir 
Francis  Bacon  was  the  chief  contriver."  And  Bacon's  mother 
writes  to  his  brother  Antony :  "  I  trust  they  will  not  mum  nor 
mask  nor  sinfully  revel  at  Gray's  Inn." 

Incidentally,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  Bacon's  mother  finally 
became  insane.  Speddlng  quotes  from  Bishop  Gootlnian  :  "  But 
for  Bacon's  mother,  she  was  but  little  better  than  frantic  in  her 
age,"  adding,  "  There  were  times  between  1593  and  1597  when 


1^84  FKANOIS    BACON 

flame.  Its  repression  in  the  presence  of  the  conspirators, 
and  his  pretended  friendship  over  Cjesar's  body,  reveal 
his  unscrupulousness  and  his  marvelous  "  nerve ":  his 
keen  intellect  is  alert,  his  faculties  excited  to  their  utmost 
tension,  and  his  heart,  the  motor  power,  hot  with  indigna- 
tion. He  is  like  a  bereaved,  infuriated  tiger ;  the  incar- 
nation of  supple  power  in  destructive  activity.  He  is  no 
theorist,  but  intensely  practical :  and  to  accomplish  his 
purpose,  as  the  means  to  the  end,  he  is  determined  to  in- 

almost  the  same  thing  might  have  been  said  of  her."  She  died 
in  1610.     Spedding  says  of  her: 

"  Lady  Bacon's  affections,  dispositions,  manners,  and  temper, 
reveal  themselves  through  her  maternal  solicitudes,  serious  and 
trivial,  as  clearly  as  if  it  were  to-day :  an  affectionate,  vehe- 
ment, fiery,  grave,  and  religious  soul,  just  beginning  to  fail  where 
such  natures  commonly  fail  first,  in  the  power  of  self-command : 
in  creed  a  Caivinist,  in  morals  a  Puritan.  Of  the  letters  whidi 
must  for  many  years  have  been  continually  passing  between  her 
and  Francis,  only  two  or  three  have  been  preserved.  But  if  we 
would  understand  his  position,  v/e  must  not  forget  that  he  hnd 
a  mother  of  this  character  and  temper  living  within  a  iew  hour;,' 
ride  of  his  chambers,  anxiously  watching  over  his  proceeding.-, 
and  by  advice  or  authority  continually  interfering  in  his  affairs." 
And  again:  "But  Lady  Bacon  was  continually  writing:  and  a 
great  number  of  her  letters  (directed  to  Antony,  but  addressed 
generally  to  both)  are  preserved  among  the  Tenison  MSS.  ;;t 
Lainbetli.  These  throw  a  very  full  light  upon  her  own  char- 
acter, and  upon  the  relations  whicli  subsisted  between  hev  and 
her  sons ;  a  relation  too  important  at  this  period  of  Francis' 
life  to  be  lost  sight  of  ;  for  tlie  feelings  of  such  a  mothe;", 
whether  in  approbation  or  disapprobation,  could  not  but  entt  r 
into  his  consideration,  even  where  they  did  not  determine  his 
course." 

The  trend  of  this  matei'ual  anxiety  is  definitely  indicated  in 
a  previous  remark  of  Spedding  regarding  Antony,  that  he  "  had 
lately  removed  from  Gray's  Inn  to  a  house  in  Bishopgate  Street, 
mvch  to  his  mother's  dhtress,  who  feared  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Bull  Inn,  where  plays  and  interludes  were  acted." 


AND    TIIS    SHAKESPEARE.  285 

fuse  his  revengeful  spit-it  into  the  people, — to  make  them 
the  instrument  of  his  vengeance. 

In  his  speech,  he  acts  upon  them,  by  acting  before  them  ; 
putting  to  practice  the  acute  suggestion  of  Volumina  to 
Coriolanus,  about  "  to  speak  to  the  people,"  to  deal  largely 
in  visual  manifestations  : 

"  for  in  such  business 
Action  is  eloquence,  and  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant 
More  learned  than  the  ears." 

With  consummate  art,  he  utterly  obliterates  the  effect  of 
Brutus'  speech :  and  by  his  action  and  his  impassioned 
words,  he  enkindles  the  imagination  of  the  assembled  pop- 
ulace, until  their  hearts  also  are  fired,  and  they  are  roused 
to  a  pitch  of  ungovernable  fury. 

This  "  plain  blunt  man,"  who  has  "  neither  wit,  nor 
words,  nor  worth,  action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of 
speech  to  stir  men's  blood,"  opens  his  speech  with  a  "white 
lie,"  following  it  up,  in  the  same  breath,  with  another, 
more  dazzling  in  its  glittering  generality  r 

"  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears : 
I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 
The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them ; 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones ; 
So  let  it  be  with  Caesar." 

He  then  answers  Brutus'  charge,  by  a  direct  argument 
ad  liominem, ;  applying  its  edge  to  Brutus  himself,  with 
cutting  irony : 

"  But  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 

Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept: 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff : 

Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 


2SCi  FRANCIS    BACON 

You  all  did  see  that  on  the  Lupercal 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 

Bear  with  me; 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar. 

And  1 7n list  pause  till,  it  come  back  to  me." 
"  Cit.  Mark'd  ye  his  words  ?  He  would  not  take  the  crown, 

Therefore  'tis  certain  he  was  not  ambitious." 
"  2d  Cit.  Poor  soul !  his  eyes  are  red  as  fire  with  weeping." 

He  holds  up  before  them  Caesar's  will,  hinting  at  its  lib- 
eral provisions  for  their  benefit,  but  withholding  its 
reading : 

"  It  will  infiame  you,  it  will  make  you  7nad: 
'Tis  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs ; 
For  if  you  should,  O,  what  would  come  of  it !  " 

thus  whetting  their  interest  to  the  edge  of  expectancy,  and 
subtly  inciting  them  to  fury. 

With  Caesar's  robe  in  hand,  he  then  reenacts  the  ter- 
rible tragedy,  with  vivid  intensity  and  dramatic  power : 

"  You  all  do  know  this  mantle :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on ; 
'T  was  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent ; 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii :  — 
Look !  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through : 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd ; 
And,  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it. 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knock'd,  or  no: 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel : 
Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him ! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all : 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab. 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitor's  arms. 
Quite  vanquished  him  :   then  burst  his  mighty  heart ; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face. 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statua, 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Csesar  fell. 


AND    IirS    SHAKESPEARE.  287 

O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen ! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  flourish'd  over  us. 
O,  now  you  weep ;  and,  1  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls,  what,  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  you  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marrd,  as  you  see,  with  traitors^ 

The  people  are  inflamed ;  and  we  blame  them  not. 
They  cry, 

"Revenge!  About.  —  seek! — burn!  —  fire!  —  kill! — slay — 
let  not  a  traitor  live !  " 

Finally,  and  in  climax,  he  reads  them  Caesar's  will ; 
reciting  his  munificent  provisions  for  their  welfare  with 
telling  power,  maddening  them  beyond  control ;  and  they 
rush  forth,  an  infuriated  mob,  to  wreak  vengeance  upon 
the  conspirators. 

Antony  stands  back  serenely  triumphant,  his  purpose 
accomplished : 

"  Now  let  it  work :  mischief,  thou  art  afloat. 
Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt :  — 

Fortune  is  merry, 

And  in  this  mood  will  give  us  anything:  " 

Word  is  brought  him,  that 

"  Brutus  and  Cassius 
Are  rid  like  madmen  through  the  gates  of  Rome," 

when,  with  exultant  complacency,  he  remarks : 

"  Belike  they  had  some  notice  of  the  people, 
How  I  had  moved  them."  * 

*  As  with  Brutus',  so  with  Antony's  speech :  Bacon  has  given 
us  sufficient  data  to  enable  us  to  comprehend  the  nature  and 
source  of  the  power  of  the  one,  as  well  as  of  the  weakness  of  the 
other.  Indeed,  this  interpretation  of  "Action"  in  eloquence 
might  almost  be  termed  distinctively  Baconian ;  for  while  our 
ideas  upon  the  subject  have  been  general  and  somewhat  confused, 
with  him  it  was  a  clearly-cut,  definite  conception. 

He  gave  it  remarkable  exemplification,  in  an  account  of  the 


288  FRANCIS    BACON 


action  of  an  "actor,"  in  inciting  the  people  to  a  like  fury,  in 
ancient  times: 

"  And  it  is  not  amiss  to  observe  also  how  small  and  mean  fac- 
ulties gotten  by  education,  yet  when  they  fall  into  great  men  or 
great  mattei^s,  do  work  great  and  important  effects ;  whereof  we 
see  a  notable  example  in  Tacitus  of  two  stage-players,  Percen- 
nius  and  Vibulenus,  who  by  their  faculty  of  playing,  put  the  Pan- 
nonian  armies  into  an  extreme  tumult  and  combustion.  For  there 
arising  a  mutiny  amongst  them,  upon  the  death  of  Augustus 
Cfesar,  Blsesus,  the  lieutenant,  had  committed  some  of  the  mu- 
tineers; which  were  suddenly  rescued;  whereupon  Vibulenus 
got  to  be  heard  speak,  which  he  did  in  this  manner :  — '  These 
poor  innocent  wretches,  appointed  to  cruel  death,  you  have  re- 
stored to  behold  the  light.  But  who  shall  restore  my  brother 
to  me,  or  life  unto  my  brother?  that  was  sent  hither  in  message 
from  the  legions  of  Germany  to  treat  of  the  common  cause,  and 
he  hath  nmrdered  him  this  last  night  by  some  of  his  fencers 
and  ruffians,  that  he  hath  about  him  for  his  executioners  upon 
soldiers.  Answer,  Blsesus,  what  is  done  with  his  body  ?  The 
mortalest  enemies  do  not  deny  burial.  When  I  have  performed 
my  last  duties  to  the  corpse  with  kisses,  with  tears,  command 
me  to  be  slain  besides  him ;  so  that  these  my  fellows,  seeing  us 
put  to  death  for  no  crime,  but  only  for  our  good  meaning  and 
our  true  hearts  to  the  legions,  may  have  leave  to  bury  us.'  With 
which  speech  he  put  the  army  into  an  infinite  fury  and  uproar ; 
whereas  truth  was,  he  had  no  brother,  neither  was  there  any 
such  matter,  but  he  played  it  merely  as  if  he  had  been  upon 
the  stage." — Advancement  of  Learning,  Second  Book. 

And  again,  in  his  Essay,  Of  Boldness,  he  says :  "  It  is  a  trivial 
grammar-school  text,  but  worthy  a  wise  man's  consideration. 
Question  was  asked  of  Demosthenes,  what  was  the  chief  part  of 
an  orator  ?  He  answered.  Action  :  what  next  ? — Action  :  what 
next  again? — Action.  He  said  it  that  knew  it  best,  and  had 
by  nature  himself  no  advantage  in  that  he  commended.  A 
strange  thing,  that  that  pai't  of  an  orator  which  is  but  super- 
ficial, and  rather  the  virtue  of  a  j^lager,  should  be  placed  so  high 
above  those  other  noble  parts  of  invention,  elocution,  and  the 
rest ;  nay  almost  alone,  as  if  it  were  all  in  all.  But  the  reason 
is  plain.  There  is  in  human  nature  generally  more  of  the  fool 
than  of  the  wise  ;  and  therefore,  those  faculties  by  which  the 
foolish  part  of  men's  minds  is  taken  ai-e  most  potent." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  289 


CHAPTER  IX.— Continued. 

But  though  the  conspirators  have  thus  escaped  with  their 
lives,  an  inexorable  Nemesis  still  pursues  them.  Dissen- 
sions arise  among  them  ;  for  theirs  is  a  combination  of 
inherently  discordant  elements,  containing  within  itself 
the  seeds  of  destruction.  They  are  unequally  yoked  to- 
gether, and  a  quarrel  is  inevitable.  Cassius'  unscrupu- 
lousness  and  his  corrupt  methods  of  raising  money  make 
him  odious  to  the  high-minded  Brutus  ;  who,  nevertheless, 
is  angry  because  some  of  this  money  is  not  sent  to  him, 
in  his  extremity,  to  pay  his  legions : 

"  For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means : 
By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
And  drop  my  blood  by  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  then-  vile  trash 
By  any  indirection." 

Cassius,  by  a  supreme  effort,  conquers  peace,  and  love 
is  restored.  But  again  the  victor  is  vanquished :  for 
Brutus  immediately  assumes  the  mastery,  and  in  the  blind- 
ness that  is  upon  him,  orders  the  fatal  movement  upon  the 
enemy  at  Philippi. 

Meanwhile,  the  work  of  disorganization  in  Cassius'  char- 
acter is  subtly  progressing.  This  Epicurean,  whose  school 
"  rejected  both  the  necessity  of  Fate  and  the  fear  of  the 
gods,"  scorning  divination,  is  now  changing,  becoming  su- 
perstitious. On  the  morning  of  the  decisive  battle,  his 
mind  is  filled  with  gloomy  forebodings  ;  oppressed  by  silent 
whisperings  of  coming  disaster,  forerunners  of  his  impend- 
ing fate : 

19 


290  FEANCIS   BACON 

"  This  is  my  birthday  ;  as  this  very  day 
Was  Cassius  born.     Give  me  thy  hand,  Messala : 
Be  thou  my  witness  that,  against  my  will, 
As  Pompey  was,  am  I  compelled  to  set 
Upon  one  battle  all  our  liberties. 
You  know  that  I  hold  Epicurus  strong, 
And  his  opinion :   now  I  change  my  mind, 
And  partly  credit  things  that  do  presage. 
Coming  from  Sardis,  on  our  former  ensign 
Two  mighty  eagles  fell ;   and  there  they  perch'd, 
Gorging  and  feeding  from  our  soldiers'  hands. 
Who  to  Philippi  here  consorted  us ; 
This  morning  are  they  fled  away,  and  gone ; 
And  in  their  steads  do  ravens,  crows,  and  kites, 
Fly  o'er  our  heads,  and  downward  look  on  us. 
As  we  were  sickly  prey ;   their  shadows  seem 
A  canopy  most  fatal,  under  which 
Our  army  lies,  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost." 

Through  the  influence  of  Messala,  he  resolves  to  be  con- 
stant :  but  nevertheless,  this  rein  thus  given  to  the  imag- 
ination, drawing  him  towards  despair,  this  under-current 
of  ominous  feeling,  is  sweeping  him  off  his  moorings  and 
loosening  his  hold  upon  life,  even  before  he  is  subjected 
to  the  final,  fatal  strain  in  the  hour  of  battle. 

The  hand  of  Nemesis  presses  heavily  upon  Brutus  also  ; 
and  its  touch  is  scorching.  The  smouldering  flame  within 
himself,  that  burst  forth  in  his  murderous  act,  has  recoiled 
upon  his  household,  in  a  consuming  fire.  Tidings  are 
brought  him  that  Portia,  his  devoted  wife, — '  himself,  his 
part,'  by  virtue  of 

"  that  great  vow 
Which  did  incorporate  and  make  us  one," — 

in  her  anxiety  and  her  grief,  had  become  mad,  and  that 
in  her  madness  she  had  killed  herself : 

'<  with  this  she  fell  distract, 
And,  her  attendants  absent,  awallow'd  fire." 

But  Brutus  bears  this  blow  with  heroic  resolution.    He 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  291 

is  a  Stoic,  and  more  than  that,  his  is  an  inherently  noble 
nature  :  and  he  astonishes  the  wavering,  ignoble  Cassius 
by  his  fortitude, — "  the  virtue  of  adversity."  This  Roman 
gentleman  buries  his  grief  from  the  sight  of  his  friends  ; 
sustaining  himself  solely  by  his  philosophy : 
"  With  meditating  that  she  must  die  once, 
I  have  the  patience  to  endure  it  now."  * 

Brutus'  resolution  is  yet  again  put  to  test.  That  very 
night,  the  night  before  the  fateful  battle,  he  encounters  a 
dreadful  portent,  personal  to  himself.  We  have  seen  how 
merely  the  sight  of  the  flight  of  some  birds  had  depressed 
Cassius,  whose  self-conserving  powers  of  resistance  had 
been  palsied,  in  the  disintegration  going  on  within  him, — 
which,  indeed,  seems  to  be  one  of  the  final  penalties  of 
guilt,  —  but  the  effect  of  a  far  more  appalling  spectacle 
upon  Brutus  was  altogether  different. 

King  Richard  III.,  that  monster  of  crime,  bold,  reso- 
lute, and  with  a  heart  harder  than  flint,  the  night  before 
his  fatal  battle,  dreamed  he  saw  the  ghosts  of  his  mur- 
dered victims.  He  awoke  to  dire  complaints,  to  di'eadful 
questionings  and  torturing  self -accusations^  sharpened  to 
the  edge  of  "  conscience,"  in  its  modern  conception : 

"  Have  mercy,  Jesu  !  —  Soft ;   I  did  but  dream. 

0  coward  conscience,  how  thou  dost  afflict  me ! 
The  lights  burn  blue. —  It  is  now  dead  midnight. 
Cold  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 
What,  do  I  fear  ?  myself  ?  there  's  none  else  by  : 
Richard  loves  Richard ;  that  is,  I  am  I. 

Is  there  a  murderer  here  ?     No  ;  —  yes ;   I  am  : 

Then  fly. — What,  from  myself?    Great  reason  why? 

Lest  I  revenge.     What  ?     Myself,  upon  myself  ? 

Alack,  I  love  myself.     Wherefore?  for  any  good 

That  I  myself  have  done  unto  myself  ? 

O,  no :  alas,  I  rather  hate  myself, 

For  hateful  deeds  committed  by  myself. 

1  am  a  villain :  yet  I  lie,  I  am  not. 

*  See  ante,  page  150. 


292  FRANCIS    BACON 

Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well :  —  fool,  do  not  flatter. 

I  shall  despair. —  There  is  no  creature  loves  me ; 

And  if  I  die,  no  soul  shall  pity  me :  — 

Nay,  wherefore  should  they?  since  that  I  myself 

Find  in  myself  no  pity  to  myself. 

Methought,  the  souls  of  all  that  I  had  murder'd 

Came  to  my  tent:   and  every  one  did  threat 

To-morrow's  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard." 

But  Brutus'  imagination,  left  to  itself,  in  untrammeled 
license,  in  the  midnight  hour, — 

"  in  that  silent  time,  when  sullen  night 
Did  hide  heav'n's  twinkling  tapers  from  his  sight. 
And  on  the  earth  with  blackest  looks  did  lour," — 

conjured  up  no  ghost  of  the  murdered  Caesar.  This,  in 
fact,  would  have  been  wholly  incompatible  with  the  fixed 
idea  which  possesses  him,  —  of  the  strict  honesty  of  his 
purpose, —  as  any  specialist  will  tell  us.  Instead,  there 
appears  before  him,  as  in  a  phantasma,  a  horrible  appari- 
tion of  his  own  evil  spirit.  It  awakens  in  him  no  slum- 
bering consciousness  of  guilt,  no  apprehension  of  a  "  to- 
morrow's vengeance,"  and,  strange  to  say,  no  gloomy  fore- 
bodings of  a  coming  disaster.  It  inspires  "  physical " 
terror,  but  Brutus'  soul  is  undaunted : 

"  How  ill  this  taper  burns !  —  Ha !  who  comes  here  ? 
I  think  it  is  the  weakness  of  mine  eyes 
That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 
It  comes  upon  me  !  —  Art  thou  anything  ? 
Art  thou  some  god,  some  angel,  or  some  devil, 
That  mak'st  my  blood  cold,  and  my  hair  to  stare  ? 
Speak  to  me  what  thou  art. 
Ghost.  Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 
Bim.  Why  cora'st  thou? 

Ghost.  To  tell  thee  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi. 
/)V«.   Well :   then  I  shall  see  tliee  again  ? 
Ghost.  Ay,  at  Philippi. 
Bra.  Why,  I  will  see  thee  at  Philippi,  then. — 

[^Ghost  vanishes. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  293 

Now  I  have  taken  heart  thou  vanlshest : 

111  spirit,  1  would  have  more  talk  with  thee. — 

Boy  !    Lucius  !  —  Varro !    Claudius !    Sirs,  awake !  " 

Strong  in  the  consciousness  of  his  integrity,  he  thinks 
of  nothing  but  natural  causes  for  the  phenomenon.  He 
ascertains  by  questioning  that  the  others  had  neither  seen 
anything  nor  were  aware  of  having  cried  out  in  their  sleep, 
though  he  notes  that  Lucius  is  thus  talking;  and  then, 
giving  no  further  attention  to  the  matter,  he  proceeds 
immediately,  and  with  undiminished  vigor,  to  press  for- 
ward the  movement : 

"  Go,  and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassias ; 
Bid  him  set  on  his  powers  betimes  before, 
And  we  will  follow." 

Later,  Cassius,  personally  interested,  puts  him  to  a  test 
of  another  sort : 

"  But  since  the  affairs  of  men  rest  still  uncertain, 
Let's  reason  with  the  worst  that  may  befall. 
If  we  do  lose  this  battle,  then  is  this 
The  very  last  time  we  shall  speak  together : 
What  are  you  then  determined  to  do?  " 

Brutus,  comprehending  the  sinister  significance  of  this 
question,  again  fortifies  himself  with  his  philosophy,  and 
answers : 

"  Even  by  the  rule  of  that  philosophy 
By  which  I  did  blame  Cato  for  the  death 
Which  he  did  give  himself :  - —  I  know  not  how, 
But  I  do  find  it  cowardly  and  vile, 
For  fear  of  what  might  fall,  so  to  prevent 
The  time  of  life  :  —  arming  myself  with  patience, 
To  stay  the  providence  of  some  high  powers 
That  govern  us  below." 

But  Cassius  puts  upon  the  question  a  subtly  incisive 
point : 

"  Then  if  we  lose  this  battle, 
You  are  contented  to  be  led  in  triumph 
Through  the  streets  of  Rome?" 


294  FRANCIS    BACON 

The  question  now  strikes  home,  penetrating  to  the  very 
core  of  Brutus'  sensitive  nature.  There  is  somewhere  a 
limit  to  the  strain  which  this  honorable  philosophy  will 
endure  without  collapse,  even  in  the  noblest  soul.  And 
in  this  case,  the  limit,  in  its  anticipation,  is  passed.  Cas- 
sius  has  again  applied  the  torch  to  Brutus'  imagination, 
and  his  philosophy  is  consumed  in  the  flame.  The  vision 
that  unrolls  before  him  of  Brutus,  him  of  noble  lineage, 
upon  whom  Rome  called  for  redress,  and  to  whom  the 
respect  of  his  fellow  men  is  as  the  breath  of  life,  presently 
bound  and  led  in  triumph  through  the  streets  of  Rome, 
amidst  the  jeers  of  the  multitude, — the  vision  of  this  rape 
of  honor,  this  infamy,  this  unutterable  shame,  is  too  ap- 
palling ;  and  Brutus  recoils  : 

"  No,  Cassius,  no :  tliink  not,  thou  noble  Roman, 
That  ever  Brutus  will  go  bound  to  Rome; 
He  bears  too  great  a  mind." 

But  Cassius  has  gained  his  point.  His  problem  has 
been  solved  for  himself.  For  the  tables  are  turned ;  and 
this  once  strong,  self-centred  man,  who  had  memorably 
moulded  Brutus  to  his  pui'pose,  has  at  length,  in  the  pro- 
gress of  his  deterioration,  altogether  lost  his  poise, —  be- 
come sensitively  subject  to  extraneous  influences,  both 
portentous  and  personal.  This  is  subtly  shown  in  his 
almost  parrot-like  repetition  of  Brutus'  farewell  speech, 
at  the  close  of  their  interview.  And  now  his  course  is 
clear.  In  the  event  of  disaster, — suicide.  And  with  this 
spectre  almost  visibly  hovering  over  him,  he  enters  the 
battle. 

Desperation  is  the  immediate  antecedent  of  despair,  the 
iridescent  flush  of  evening,  preceding  the  night.  And  in 
Cassius'  words  of  bravado,  uttered  just  before  the  engage- 
ment, we  perceive  the  muffled  ring  of  an  undertone  of  des- 
peration ;  possibly  the  antecedent  note  of  an  oncoming 
despair : 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  295 

"  Why,  now,  blow  wind,  swell  billow,  and  swim  bark ! 
The  storm  is  up,  and  all  is  on  the  hazard.'' 

For  we  remember  that  this  was  to  him  a  painful  chord, — 
one  of  the  mournful  plaints  in  the  strain  of  despair  he 
poured  into  Messala's  ear,  as  already  noted. 

And  now  the  battle  is  on  :  and  its  tide,  though  favor- 
ing Brutus,  turns  at  length  against  Cassius'  division.  It 
becomes  hemmed  in  by  Antony's  forces  :  and  Pindarus, 
Cassius'  servant,  enters,  sounding  the  alarm : 

"  Fly  further  off,  my  lord,  fly  further  off. 
Mark  Antony  is  in  your  tents,  my  lord ! 
Fly  therefore,  noble  Cassius,  fly  far  off." 

Cassius  finds  a  safe  position  upon  the  side  of  a  hill, 
from  whence  he  perceives  his  burning  tents,  and  also  a 
body  of  troops  approaching.  He  mounts  Titinius  upon 
his  horse,  and  sends  him  in  haste  to  reconnoitre  and  report 
whether  the  advancing  troops  be  "  friends  or  enemy."  In 
his  anxiety,  and  because  of  his  weak  eyesight,  he  sends 
Pindarus  up  the  hill,  to  watch  Titinius,  and  to  report  what 
he  sees  upon  the  field.  And  before  he  hears  a  word,  the 
night  of  black  despair  closes  in  upon  him,  enveloping  him 
in  its  gloom  : 

"  This  day  I  breathed  first :  time  is  come  round, 
And  where  I  did  begin  there  shall  I  end ; 
My  life  is  run  his  compass." 

His  imagination  thus  pictures  before  him  the  fatal  end, 
and  in  its  vivid  realization  there  is  a  complete  collapse : 
he  is  prepared  to  surrender  all  further  hold  upon  life. 

In  climatic  fitness,  Pindarus,  his  servant,  in  malice, 
nov/  lies  to  him  ;  reporting  that  Titinius  is  taken  prisoner, 
and  that  "they  shout  for  joy  ";  and  the  shout  is  heard  in 
confirmation, —  when  in  fact,  it  is  the  acclaim  of  Brutus' 
advancing  forces,  welcoming  Titinius.  Summoning  Pin- 
darus, bidding  him,  "  behold  no  more,"  and  making  no 
further  inquiry,  for  he  is  consciously  accepting  the  inev- 


296  FRANCIS    15AC0N 

itable,  Cassiiis  now  covers  his  face  and  ends  his  life  by 
falling  upon  his  own  sword.  It  was  the  sword  with  which 
he  had  pierced  Caesar  to  his  death.  In  his  dying  words, 
he  recognizes  the  profound  significance  of  the  fact : 

"  Caesar,  thou  art  atieng'd 
Even  with  the  sword  that  kill'd  thee." 

His  own  chalice  has  at  last  been  pressed  to  his  own 
lips,  with  its  draught  of  death. 

"  Thus  doth  He  force  the  swords  of  wicked  men 
To  turn  their  own  points  on  their  master's  bosoms : 

Wrong  hath  hut  wrong,  and  blame  its  due  ofhhtme.'"* 

Continuing  the  painful  record  of  crime's  painful  retri- 
bution :  Titinius  returns,  bearing  the  garland  of  victory 
sent  by  Brutus  to  Cassius, 

"  for  Octavius 
Is  overthrown  by  noble  Brutus'  power," 

and  rejoicing  in  the  "  comfort  "  he  brings  to  Cassius,  whom 
he  had  left  "  all  disconsolate."  In  his  anguish,  at  the 
sight  of  Cassius'  corpse,  and  his  ignorance  of  Pindarus' 
guile,  he  exclaims : 

"  Mistrust  of  my  success  hath  done  this  deed." 
"Why  didst  thou  send  me  forth,  brave  Cassius? 

Did  I  not  meet  thy  f  i-iends  ?  and  did  not  they 

Put  on  my  brows  this  wreath  of  victory, 

And  bid  me  give 't  thee  ?    Didst  thou  not  hear  their  shouts  ? 

Alas,  thou  hast  misconstrued  everything." 

And  Messala,  Cassius'  friend,  to  whom  he  had  confided 
his  gloomy  apprehensions,  laboring  under  the  same  mis- 
conception, in  the  same  partial  comprehension  of  the  truth, 
continues  the  theme,  developing  a  general  principle  of  pro- 
found import : 

"  Mistrust  of  good  success  hath  done  this  deed. 

*  And  in  this  also,  we  are  but  following  in  Bacon's  enliglit- 
ened  footsteps :  See  ante,  page  76,  note. 


AND    niS    SHAKESPEARE.  297 

O  hateful  erroi',  melancholy's  child ! 

Why  dost  thou  show  to  the  apt  thoughts  of  men 

The  tilings  that  are  not?     O  error,  soon  conceived, 

Thou  never  coni'st  unto  a  happy  birth, 

But  kill'st  the  mother  that  engender'd  thee." 

Messala  departs,  to  carry  the  tidings  to  Brutus  ;  and  we 
note  with  interest  the  peculiar  incisiveness  with  which 
this  intelligence  is  pointed  : 

"  I  go  to  meet 
The  noble  Brutus,  thrusting  this  report 
Into  his  ears:  I  may  say  thrusting  it; 
For  piercing  steel,  and  darts  envenomed, 
Shall  be  as  welcome  to  the  ears  of  Brutus 
As  tidings  of  this  sight." 

Titinius  is  left  behind,  plunged  into  the  same  gulf  of 
despair.  Cassius'  dismal  end,  so  unnecessary,  so  inscruta- 
ble beneath  its  surface, — save  to  his  own  dying  glance, — 
is  given  by  Titinius  a  woful  interpretation :  it  is  to  him 
ominous  of  the  fate  of  their  cause,  the  setting  of  its  sun, 
ushering  in  the  night : 

"  But  Cassius  is  no  more.  —  O  setting  sun! 
As  in  thy  red  rays  thou  dost  sink  to-night, 
So  in  his  red  blood  Cassius'  day  is  set ; 
The  sun  of  Rome  is  set !      Our  day  is  gone ; 
Clouds,  dews,  and  dangers  come ;  our  deeds  are  done!  "  * 

*  Incidentally,  Titinius'  few  words  reveal,  unmistakably,  the 
pure  and  unselfish  quality  of  his  patriotism.  Rome  was  writ- 
ten upon  his  heart,  springing  thence  spontaneously  to  his  lips, 
in  this  moment  of  distress  preceding  his  death.  Her  welfare 
and  the  existence  and  intent  of  their  cause  were  to  him  identi- 
cal ;  and  their  common  fate,  their  helplessness,  and  the  ensuing 
dangers,  and  not  his  own  personal  misfortunes,  were  the  bur- 
den of  his  thoughts.  Evidently  he  was  not  one  of  those  whose 
minds  are  self-absorbed,  closed  to  "  this  universality,"  and  with 
little  knowledge  of  the  world  at  large,  who,  to  use  Bacon's  ex- 
pressive words,  "  do  refer  all  things  to  themselves,  and  thrust 
themselves  into  the  centre  of  the  world,  as  if  all  lives  should 


298  FRANCIS    BACON 

In  the  utter  abandonment  of  despair,  he  kills  himself 
with  the  same  sword  : 

"  By  your  leave,  gods  :  — this  is  a  Roman's  part: 
Come,  Cassius'  sword,  and  find  Titiniiis'  heart." 

In  the  parley  preceding  the  battle,  Antony  and  Oota- 
vins  had  thrust  into  the  conspirators'  ears  some  very 
pointed  words,  of  intensive  force,  breathing  of  vengeance, 
and  expressive  of  a  righteous  indignation : 

"  Ant.  In  your  bad  strokes,  Brutus,  you  gave  good  words : 
Witness  the  hole  you  made  in  Caesar's  heart. 
Crying,  '  Long  live!   hail,  Ccesarf" 
"  Villains,  you  did  not  so  when  your  vile  daggers 
Hack'd  one  another  in  the  sides  of  Caesar: 
You  show'd  your  teeth  like  apes,  and  fawn'd  like  hounds, 
And  bow'd  like  bondmen,  kissing  Caesar's  feet; 
Whilst  damned  Casca,  like  a  cur,  behind, 
Struck  Caesar  on  the  neck.     O  you  flatterers !  " 
*'  Oct.  Come,  come,  the  cause  :  if  arguing  make  us  sweat. 
The  proof  of  it  will  turn  to  redder  drops. 
Look, —  I  draw  a  sword  against  conspirators ; 
When  think  you  that  the  sword  goes  up  again  ?  — - 
Never,  till  Caesar's  three-and-thirty  wounds 
Be  well  avenged;  or  till  another  Caesar 
Have  added  slaughter  to  the  sword  of  traitors ; " 

declaring  further,  that  he  "  was  not  born  to  die  on  Brutus' 
sword."  As  might  perhaps  be  expected,  these  "  words, 
words  "  seemingly  make  but  little  impression  upon  the 
conspirators,  at  least  upon  Brutus.  Cassius,  indeed,  an- 
swers with  bluster,  though  he  immediately  addresses  Mes- 
sala  in  a  strain  indicating  a  sinking  heart.  But  Brutus, 
armored  in  the  consciousness  of  his  integrity,  replies  with 
dignity  : 

"  O,  if  thou  wert  the  noblest  of  thy  strain. 
Young  man,  thou  couldst  not  die  more  honorable." 

meet  in  them  and  their  fortunes  ;  never  caring  in  all  tempests 
what  becomes  of  the  ship  of  estates,  so  they  may  save  them- 
selves in  the  cockboat  of  their  own  fortune." 


AND    HIS    SHAKKSPEARK.  299 

But  presently,  Brutus  eneounters  a  poignant  sight,  of 
such  penetrating,  convicting  power,  that  it  pierces  even 
through  his  darkened  understanding.  Returning  witli 
Messala  to  look  for  Cassius'  body,  he  finds  by  its  side, 
lying  face  upward,  the  body  of  Titinius,  self-slain  by  the 
self-same  sword.      Standing  there  appalled, 

"  Before  this  sudden  and  unlooked-for  fate," 
a  glimmering  of  its  meaning  forces  its  way  into  his  be- 
nighted soul,  and  what  seems  to  him  to  be  its  rightful 
interpretation  ;   and  he  exclaims  : 

"  0  Julius  Csesar,  thou  art  mighty  yet ! 
Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 
In  our  own  proper  entrails."* 

*  The  several  and  varied  interpretations  given  to  Cassius' 
death,  by  himself,  by  Titinius  and  Messala,  and  by  Brutus,  are 
not  accidents  ;  for  they  are  too  carefully  elaborated.  They  are, 
in  fact,  elegant  exemplifications  (like  waters  drawn  from  its 
fountain,  or  flowers  upon  its  stem)  of  Bacon's  profound  philos- 
ophy of  human  nature  in  certain  of  its  aspects,  to  which  he 
gave  distinct  development  in  his  Novum  Oi'ganurn.  Its  spirit 
may  perhaps  be  caught  from  the  following  brief  extract : 

"  For  it  is  a  false  assertion  that  the  sense  of  man  is  the  measure 
of  things.  On  the  contrary,  all  perceptions  as  well  of  the  sense  as 
of  the  mind  are  according  to  the  measu7-e  of  the  indioidual  and 
not  according  to  the  measure  of  the  universe.  And  the  human  un- 
derstanding is  like  a  false  mirror,  which,  receiving  rays  irreg- 
ularly, distorts  and  discolors  the  nature  of  things  by  mingling 
its  own  nature  with  it.  .  .  .  For  every  one  (besides  the  errors 
common  to  human  nature  in  general)  has  a  cave  or  den  of  his 
own,  which  refracts  and  discolors  the  light  of  nature ;  owing 
either  to  his  own  pro-per  and  peculiar  nature;  or  to  his  educa- 
tion and  conversation  with  others ;  or  to  the  reading  of  books, 
and  the  authority  of  those  whom  he  esteems  and  admires ;  or 
to  the  differences  of  impressions,  accordingly  as  they  take  place 
in  a  mind  pjreoccupied  and  pjredisposed  or  in  a  mind  indifferent 
and  settled;  or  the  like.  So  that  the  spirit  of  man  (accord- 
ing as  it  is  meted  out  to  different  individuals)  is  in  fact  variable 
and  full  of  perturbation,  and  governed  as  it  were  by  chance." 


800  FRANCIS    BACON 

But  Brntnf?  has  by  no  moans  awakened  to  clarity  of 
vision.  He  is  still  walking  among  the  clouds,  in  the 
higher  realm  of  his  own  ideal  world  ;  or  perhaps,  to  put 
it  more  strongly,  he  is  even  yet  over  and  beyond,  in  the 
black  cloud  of  darkness  that  overshadows  the  abnormal. 

In  his  early  exaltation,  it  will  be  remembered,  it  was. 
not  Cjesar  "  for  the  thing  he  is,"  the  personality  to  whom 
he  was  bound  by  ties  of  affection,  in  the  actuality  of  thingr. 
as  they  are,  but  it  was  Caesar's  embodied  potentiality,  his 
ambitious  "  spirit,"  in  its  ominous  possibilities,  which  oc- 
cupied his  mind,  and  against  which  he  arrayed  himself  in 
mortal  combat ;  and  Caesar's  physical  '  dismembeiment ' 
was  to  him  but  the  gross,  earthly,  and  repulsive,  but  nev- 
ertheless necessary  incident  to  this  higher  warfare : 

"  We  all  stand  up  against  the  spirit  of  Caesar ; 
And  in  the  spirit  of  man  there  is  no  blood ; 
0,  that  we  then  could  come  by  Caesar's  spirit, 
And  not  dismember  Caesar !      But,  alas, 
Caesar  must  bleed  for  it."         » 

To  this  chimera,  the  offspring  of  his  inflamed  imagina- 
tion, Brutus  is  destined  to  remain  in  thralldom,  even  unto 
the  fatal  end  ;  blinded  first  to  the  crime,  and  now  to  its 
consequences,  by  the  attendant  delusion  that  he  is  all  the 
while  treading  in  the  honorable  pathway  of  heroic  self- 
sacrifice,  and  that  whatever  be  the  event,  he  is  winning 
to  himself  imperishable  glory.  He  is  in  fact  still  pos- 
sessed by  a  fixed  idea,  that  shapes  and  colors  everything  to 
its  own  likeness.  And  in  this  awful  spectacle,  so  preg- 
nant with  significance,  he  sees,  and  only  sees,  the  mani- 
fest workings  of  his  old  intangible  enemy,  Caesar's  mighty 
"  spirit,"  quenchless  even  in  death,  '  walking  abroad,'  rest- 
less in  its  animosity,  and  waging,  most  effectually,  a  re- 
lentless warfare. 

But  Brutus  remains  undaunted  ;  for  in  his  mind,  the 
justness  of  his  cause  is  thereby  in  no  respect  consciously 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  301 

impugned.  This  ray  of  light  is  so  distorted  by  the  medium 
through  which  it  enters  that  it  awakens  in  him  no  convic- 
tion of  wrong-doing,  nor  even  its  depressing  shadow.  He, 
indeed,  realizes  the  tremendous  odds  against  which  he  con- 
tends, as  is  indicated  in  his  expression,  but  there  is  no 
faltering  or  wavering  of  his  resolution.  Sparing  but  a 
moment  to  pay  to  the  dead  his  tribute  of  appreciation  and 
affection,  he  urges  on  the  conflict  with  undiminished  vigor : 

"  Are  yet  two  Romans  living  such  as  these  ? — 
The  last  of  all  the  Romans,  fare  thee  well ! 
It  is  impossible  that  ever  Rome 

Should  breed  thy  fellow. —  Friends,  I  owe  more  tears 
To  this  dead  man  than  you  shall  see  me  pay. — 
I  shall  find  time,  Cassius,  I  shall  find  time. — 
Come,  therefore,  and  to  Thassos  send  his  body ; 
His  funerals  shall  not  be  in  our  camp, 
Lest  it  discomfort  us. —  Lucilius,  come ;  — 
And  come,  young  Cato :  let  us  to  the  field. — 
Labeo,  and  Flavins,  set  our  battles  on  :  — 
'T  is  three  o'clock  ;  and,  Romans,  yet  ere  night 
We  shall  try  fortune  in  a  second  fight." 

He  exhorts  his  companions,  "  O  yet  hold  up  your 
heads  !  "  and  in  concert  with  young  Cato,  and  to  encour- 
age their  troops  as  they  charge,  he  cries : 

"  And  I  am  Brutus,  Marcus  Brutus,  I ; 
Brutus,  my  country's  friend ;  know  me  for  Brutus." 

But  the  tide  of  battle  turns  against  them.  Cato  is  slain, 
Lucilius  taken  prisoner,  and  their  forces  are  utterly 
routed.  Brutus  acknowledges  himself  vanquished  ;  hope 
is  abandoned,  and  his  grief  finds  vent  in  manly  tears : 

"  Now  is  that  noble  vessel  full  of  grief, 
That  it  runs  over  even  at  his  eyes." 

He  recalls  the  apparition  with  which  he  had  before 
been  visited  ;  now  recognizing  in  it  another  origin,  and  a 
significance  of  fearfully  ominous  import : 


302  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  The  ghost  of  Ccesar  hath  appeared  to  me 
Two  several  times  by  night :  at  Sardis,  once ; 
And,  this  last  night,  here  in  Philippi  fields. 
/  know  my  hour  is  come  J" 

Accepting  his  fate,  he  bids  farewell  to  his  friends : 

"Farewell  to  you  —  and  you;  —  and  you,  Volumnius. — 
Strato,  thou  hast  heeji  all  this  ivhile  asleep  ; 
Farewell  to  thee  too,  Strato. —  Countiymen, 
My  heart  doth  joy  that  yet,  in  all  my  life, 
I  found  no  man  but  he  was  true  to  me. 
/  shall  have  more  glory  hy  this  losing  day. 
More  than  Octavius  and  Mark  Antony 
By  this  vile  conquest  shall  attain  unto. 
So,  fare  you  well  at  once ;  for  Brutus'  tongue 
Hath  almost  ended  his  life's  history." 

Death  is  to  him  welcome  ;  and  there  is  an  unutterable 
longing  for  the  final  rest : 

"  Night  hangs  upon  mine  eyes :  my  bones  would  rest, 
That  have  but  labor'd  to  attain  this  hour."  * 

He  then  runs  upon  the  sword  held  by  Strato,  crying : 

"  Csesar,  now  be  still : 
I  kill'd  not  thee  with  half  so  good  a  will." 

*  "  Death  arrives  gracious  only  to  such  as  sit  in  darkness,  or 
lie  heavy  burthened  with  grief  and  irons ;  to  the  poor  Chris- 
tian, that  sits  bound  in  the  galley;  to  despairful  widows,  pen- 
sive prisoners,  and  deposed  kings ;  to  them  whose  fortune  runs 
back,  and  whose  spirits  mutiny ;  unto  such  death  is  a  redeemer, 
and  the  grave  a  place  for  retiredness  and  rest. 

"  These  wait  upon  the  shore  of  death,  and  waft  unto  him  to 
draw  near,  wishing  above  all  others  to  see  his  star,  that  they 
might  be  led  to  his  place;  wooing  the  remorseless  sisters  to 
wind  down  the  watch  of  their  life,  and  to  break  them  off  before 
the  hour.   .   .   . 

"  The  night  was  even  now :  but  that  name  is  lost ;  it  is  not 
now  late  but  early.  Mine  eyes  begin  to  discharge  their  wat(rh, 
and  to  compound  with  this  fleshly  weakness  for  a  time  of  per- 
petual rest ;  and  I  shall  presently  be  as  happy  for  a  few  hours, 
as  I  had  died  the  first  hour  I  was  born." — On  Death. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  oO'S 

Caesar  is  thus  finally  avenged ;  a  righteous  retribution 
is  accomplished ;  and  the  play  appropriately  ends  with 
Mark  Antony's  touching  tribute  to  Brutus,  uttered  over 
his  body : 

"  This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all : 
All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he, 
Did  that  they  did  in  envi/  of  great  Csesar ; 
He  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought. 
And  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them. 
His  life  was  gentle ;  and  the  elements 
So  mix'd  in  him  that  Nature  might  stand  up. 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  ^This  teas  a  man! ' 
Oct.  According  to  his  virtue  let  us  use  him, 
With  all  respect  and  rights  of  burial. 
Within  my  tent  his  bones  to-night  shall  lie, 
Most  like  a  soldier,  order'd  honorably, — 
So,  call  the  field  to  rest :   and  let 's  away, 
To  feast  the  glories  of  this  happy  day." 


304  FRANUIS    BACON 


CHAPTER  X. 

Our  labor  of  love  is  finished.  And  possibly  the  reader 
has  consciously  gained  a  much  clearer  insight  into  the  play  ; 
through  its  study  from  the  standpoint  of  its  author,  and  in 
the  strong  light  continually  thrown  upon  it  from  his  volum- 
inous prose.  Under  this  illumination,  indeed,  the  play  con- 
tinually unfolds  itself  to  our  comprehension :  and,  as  was 
said  of  his  history,  its  effect  is  "like  that  of  bringing  a 
light  into  a  dark  room  :  the  objects  are  there  as  they  were 
before,  but  now  you  can  distinguish  them." 

"  Dramatic  poetry,"  said  Bacon,  "  is  a  kind  of  visible 
history,  giving  the  images  of  things  as  if  they  were  pres- 
ent, whilst  history  represents  them  as  past."  And  through 
the  perfect  blending  of  the  historian's  and  the  dramatist's 
art,  how  beautifully  is  this  conception  fulfilled  in  the  play 
before  us ! 

An  important  event  in  ancient  times  is  first  definitely 
comprehended  from  the  historian's  standpoint ;  with  a 
clear  insight  into  the  character  and  mould  of  the  princi- 
pal actors,  their  motives,  and  the  springs  of  action ;  into 
its  causes  and  the  forces  at  work,  their  development  and 
operation,  even  to  the  consummation,  and  thence,  through 
its  consequences,  unto  the  end.  Writing  from  this  stand- 
point, and  with  his  masterly  grasp  of  the  forces  "  that 
work  u})on  the  spirits  of  men,"  he  has  given  the  whole 
reproduction  in  the  similitude  of  life  itself  ;  in  a  perfec- 
tion of  execution,  an  absolute  completeness,  an  artistic 
unity,  and  a  perfectly  consistent  development,  fronv  its  in- 
ception to  its  conclusion,  that  almost  surpasses  belief  — 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  305 

exooi^t  in  tlie  presence  of  its  aec*onij)li.shment.  In  this  re- 
spect, indeed,  and  in  its  revelation  of  man  unto  liimself, 
it  stands  unparalleled  in  the  literature  of  the  world,  both 
ancient  and  modern, — a  veritable  masterpiece  of  the  ages. 

Sharing  in  the  author's  conception,  we  share  also  in  his 
delight.  Our  enhanced  pleasure  in  the  more  intimate 
comprehension  of  the  play  is  even  closely  akin  to  the  added 
joy  experienced  by  Helmholtz,  when,  after  a  close  study 
and  final  comprehension  of  the  laws  of  wave  motion  in 
their  exquisite  harmonies,  he  again  visited  the  sea ;  and 
to  which  he  gave  expression  in  these  beautiful  words : 

"  And  thus  from  the  distant  horizon,  where  white  lines 
of  foam  on  the  steel-blue  surface  betray  the  coming  trains 
of  wave,  dov^n  to  the  sand  beneath  our  feet,  where  the  im- 
pression of  their  arcs  remains,  there  is  unfolded  before 
our  eyes  a  sublime  image  of  immeasurable  power  and  un- 
ceasing variety,  which,  as  the  eye  at  once  recognizes  its 
pervading  order  and  law,  enchains  and  exalts  without  con- 
fusing the  mind." 

And  how  clearly  has  he  shown  us  the  true  method  of 
approach  in  the  study  of  the  plays  !  Art  and  Nature  speak 
in  one  and  the  same  language — manifestation.  And  there- 
fore, if  we  would  comprehend  the  work,  at  least  of  this 
Master  Artist,  we  must  first  learn  "  the  mother  tongue." 
And  here  also  there  is  no  royal  road  to  learning.  Accept- 
ing him  as  our  master,  we  must  enter  the  same  school  in 
which  he  studied,  and  by  patient,  painstaking  labor,  learn 
nature's  alphabet,  aye  her  primer ;  and  thus  only  can  we 
fully  understand  his  language,  or  adequately  comprehend 
his  work.  And  conversely,  the  close  study  of  his  work 
teaches  us,  in  turn,  how  to  interpret  nature's  voice  in  its 
expressive  accents ;  opening  our  minds  to  its  understand- 
ing, a)id  initiating  that  intimate  "  converse "  with  her, 
which  he  so  earnestly  enjoined,  and  which  is  our  exalted 
privilege. 

20 


306  FRANCIS    BACON 

Nevertheless,  in  this  our  present  attempt,  owing  to  in- 
dividual limitations  and  the  ever  present  "  personal  equa- 
tion "  of  error,  the  play,  in  its  wealth  of  significance,  is  by 
no  means  fully  comprehended.  Thus,  even  as  we  were  writ- 
ing the  concluding  pages,  there  dawned  upon  us  the  glim- 
mering vision  of  a  possibly  subtler,  more  important  phase 
of  Brutus'  character,  as  it  is  unfolded  in  the  play,  whose 
definite  perception  had  previously  escaped  us,  and  which 
seems  v/orthy  of  further  and  more  careful  attention. 

In  brief:  Brutus  was  manifestly  a  cultivated  Roman, 
a  lover  of  books  and  music,  and  proficient  in  philosoph}'. 
In  this  expansion  of  his  mind,  and  under  the  prompt- 
ings of  a  sensitive,  sympathetic  heart,  he  seems  to  have 
attained  to  a  clear  apprehension  of  the  surpassing  excel- 
lence of  duty  and  self-sacrifice,  of  honor  and  of  good 
repute  ;  and  such  considerations  appear  to  have  been  ever 
present  before  him.  But  observing  the  marked  contrast 
between  Titinius'  spontaneous  self-abnegation,  manifested 
in  his  few  brief  words,  and  the  predominant  tone  of  Bru- 
tus' final  utterances,  characterized  by  the  utter  absence  of 
this  quality,  and  in  whose  self- absorption  there  was  no 
word  of  grief  for  Rome,  or  for  the  loss  of  their  cause,  or  a 
thought  thereof,  we  begin  to  suspect  that  one  of  Brutus' 
most  pronounced  characteristics  was  a  superb  Egotism, 
which  both  colored  his  thoughts  and  subtly  influenced  his 
whole  course  of  action  ;  yea  more,  that  it  lay  at  the  very 
foundation  of  his  ruin  ;  that  it  was  at  once  the  iveakness 
that  gave  Cassius  his  hold  upon  him,  and  in  its  subtle)- 
essence,  the  sin  which  lay  at  the  core  of  his  error ;  whose 
poison  festered  into  his  delusion,  and  whose  virulence 
burst  forth  in  the  consequent  crime  ;  and  that  finally,  its 
ascendency,  manifested  in  his  headstrong  wilfulness  and 
blind  self-assertion,  ministered  directly  to  the  subsequent 
retribution. 

But  all  this  must  be  left  to  the  enlightened  judgment 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  307 

of  the  reader  :  and  we  beg  that  he  will  indeed  regard  our 
whole  discussion  as  merely  provisional ;  as  a  framework  of 
suggestions,  contributory  to  his  own  independent  and  de- 
lightful study  of  the  play ;  prosecuted  with  the  intent  to 
attain  to  the  innermost  thought  and  conception  of  its  au- 
thor. Only,  we  assure  him,  from  our  own  experience,  that 
however  deep  he  may  sound  the  plummet,  he  will  find,  at 
the  end,  that  there  are  still  unsounded  depths  beyond,  in- 
viting and  rewarding  further  study,  —  if  only  he  will 
adopt  Bacon's  maxim,  "  that  the  eye  of  the  mind  be  never 
taken  off  from  things  themselves,  but  receive  their  images 
truly  as  they  are." 

And  applying  this  maxim  to  our  broader  study  of  this 
truly  magnificent  creation,  do  we  not  clearly  see  and 
recognize  the  personality  of  its  author,  as  it  is  "  revealed 
in  his  works  "  ?  Have  we  not  been  enabled  to  "  trace  his 
footsteps  "  throughout  its  whole  compass  ?  And  do  we 
not  discern  that  its  "  evidences  of  design  "  are,  in  fact, 
the  fulfilment  of  his  own  specifications  ;  that  its  thoughts 
are  his  thoughts,  its  learning  his  learning,  its  conception 
of  human  nature  strikingly  his  conception,  and  its  under- 
lying psychology  his  psychology  ?  And  has  not  the  recog- 
nition of  his  authorship  opened  to  us  a  mine  of  untold 
treasure,  affording  to  these  jewels  their  appropriate  set- 
ting, and  brought  with  it  a  flood  of  light,  in  whose  illumi- 
nation they  glow  in  a  surpassing  splendor  ?  And  above 
all,  has  it  not  given  us  a  clearer  insight  into  the  kindly, 
beneficent  intent  towards  mankind  which  so  distinctively 
characterizes  his  work,  and  which  is  at  once  its  inspira- 
tion and  its  crowning  glory? 

But  shall  this  new  and  enlarged  appreciation  be  merely 
intellectual  and  barren  ;  confined  wholly  to  the  gift,  and 
with  no  accompanying  expansion  of  the  soul  in  a  kindly 
or  even  merciful  thought  towards  its  bountiful  giver  ? 

And  what  though  he  chose  to  veil  his  personality  for  a 


,'')08  FRANCIS    BACON 

time  :  it  was  doubtloss  for  what  were  to  liini  good  and  suf- 
ficient reasons : 

"  Never  believe,  though  in  my  nature  reign'd 
All  frailties  that  besiege  all  kinds  of  blood, 
That  it  could  so  preposterously  be  stain'd. 
To  leave  for  nothing  all  thy  sum  of  good."  * 

Moreover,  whatever  the  reasons,  and  however  controlling 
the  circumstances,  confessedly,  he  produced  the  plays  un- 
der conditions  which  effectually  precluded  his  enjoyment 
of  the  lustrous  reputation  they  might  have  conferred  upon 
his  name.  And  the  very  absence  of  this  powerful  incent- 
ive, taken  in  connection  with  their  long  continued  and 

*  In  the  very  beginning,  Bacon's  regard  for  the  comfort  and 
peace  of  mind  of  his  pious  mother,  especially  in  her  precarious 
condition,  would  certainly  have  counted  for  something:  and  it 
would  seem,  in  itself,  to  have  been  a  sufficient,  and  indeed  a 
highly  creditable  reason  for  withholding  his  name  even  from 
such  priceless  works.  (See  ante,  page  283,  note.)  And  not 
to  mention  other  pertinent  circumstances  inviting  interesting 
discussion,  it  is  obvious,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  that  bind- 
ing obligations  were  likely  assumed  in  the  beginning,  which 
placed  further  check  upon  him ;  holding  him  to  honorable  silence, 
— until,  as  he  was  serenely  confident,  the  plays  themselves  en- 
forced the  revelation : 

"  Because  he  needs  no  praise,  wilt  thou  be  dumb  ? 
Excuse  not  silence  so ;   for  it  lies  in  thee 
To  make  him  much  outlive  a  gilded  tomb, 
And  to  be  praised  of  ages  yet  to  be." 

The  Sonnets,  from  which  the  above  lines  are  quoted,  have 
generally  been  regarded  as  beautiful,  but  licentious  productions, 
whose  theme  is  illicit  love :  when  in  fact,  in  their  rightful  in- 
terpretation (possibly  becoming  apparent  in  a  subsequent  chap- 
ter) they  are  as  pure  as  is  Solomon's  Song ;  the  unveiling  of 
the  Poet's  heart ;  singing  in  unmistakable  notes  of  his  loving 
appreciation  of  the  plays,  of  his  grief  in  his  deprivation  of  their 
acknowledgment,  and  of  his  abiding  faith  in  the  ultimate  reve- 
lation. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  309 

prolific  composition,  but  throws  into  stronger  light  the 
higher  motives  which  actuated  their  production.  They 
were  indeed  born  of  an  irresistible  impulse,  whose  germ- 
inal force  was  the  divinely  implanted  purpose  of  service 
to  mankind,  and  whose  allurement  was  the  lofty  ambition 
to  thus  perpetuate  himself  in  the  life  of  humanity,  in  a 
fruition  whose  maturity  could  only  come  long  after  his 
departure. 

Such  greatness,  attaining  even  to  grandeur,  may  seem  to 
some  a  fanciful  picture  ;  but  only  to  those  who  are  unac- 
quainted with  Bacon,  and  who  have  perhaps  forgotten  that 
these  immortal  works,  so  delight-inspiring,  are  also  replete 
with  lessons  of  the  most  vital  import  to  each  of  us.  The 
creation  bears  the  stamp  of  its  design  ;  and  this  is  the 
most  characteristic  imprint  of  its  author.* 

*  Incidentally,  it  should  be  mentioned  that  Bacon  had  a  lofty 
conception  of  the  legitimate  province  of  the  Drama,  and  of  its 
possible  utilization  for  good,  as  is  clearly  shown  in  the  follow- 
ing brief  extract  from  his  De  Avgmentis,  Second  Book : 

"  Dramatic  Poetry,  which  has  the  theatre  for  its  world,  woukl 
be  of  excellent  use,  if  well  directed.  For  the  stage  is  capabk- 
of  no  small  influence,  both  of  discipline  and  corruption.  Now 
of  corruption  in  this  kind  we  have  enough ;  but  the  discipline 
has  in  our  times  been  plainly  neglected.  And  though  in  modern 
states  play-acting  is  esteemed  but  as  a  toy,  except  when  it  is  too 
satirical  and  biting ;  yet  among  the  ancients,  it  was  used  as  a 
means  of  educating  men's  minds  to  virtue.  Nay,  it  has  been 
regarded  by  learned  men  and  great  philosophers  as  a  kind  of 
musician's  bow  by  which  men's  minds  may  be  played  upon. 
And  certainly  it  is  most  true,  and  one  of  the  great  secrets  of 
nature,  that  the  minds  of  men  are  more  open  to  impressions  and 
affections  when  many  are  gathered  together  than  when  they  are 
alone." 

A  standard  that  is  as  much  higher  than  that  of  modern  play- 
wrights, as  are  their  productions  inferior  to  the  plays  in  moral 
power,  and  "  as  a  means  of  educating  men's  minds  to  virtue." 
For  in  literature,  as  in  nature,  a  stream  never  rises  higher  thau 
its  source. 


310  FKANCIS    BACON 

Goethe  said  of  his  work,  "  It  is  hone  of  my  hone  and 
Jlesh  of  my  flesh"":  and  the  remark  is  fundamental ;  ap- 
plicable to  all  the  great  works  of  genius,  which  are  indeed 
their  authors'  progeny,  bearing  the  characteristics  of  their 
heredity.  Indeed,  if  we  would  adequately  comprehend 
the  greatness  of  the  plays  in  the  full  grandeur  of  their 
beneficent  intent,  and  moreover  grasp  the  underlying  law 
of  their  genesis  —  in  the  comprehension  of  the  essential, 
indispensable  germinal  element  which  was  their  origin 
and  inspiration — we  must  study  intently  the  mould  of  their 
author ;  laying  hold  upon  the  special  virile  force  which 
dominated  his  intellectual  life,  and  which  found  expression 
in  his  works, —  a  force  which  is  the  very  essence  of  the 
greatness  indicated,  and  which  rendered  him  abundantly 
capable  of  just  such  a  sacrifice. 

We  are  entering  upon  a  region  so  lofty,  that  its  paths 
are  unfamiliar.  Negligence  of  the  lustre  of  fame,  as  a 
present,  personal  gratification  (so  flattering  to  man's  in- 
herent vanity,  and  so  highly  esteemed),  is  indeed  difficult 
to  comprehend  ;  but  only  because  of  the  greater  difficulty 
of  comprehending  the  predominance  in  motive  of  the  vastly 
greater  good  of  accomplished  service  to  mankind  ;  which 
as  far  transcends  it  as  does  the  sunlight  the  lesser  lights 
that  illumine  the  earth. 

But  such  was  Bacon's  thought,  his  ])redominant  motive 
and  purpose.  It  is  made  clearly  manifest  in  connection 
with  the  development  of  his  Inductive  Philosophy  —  un- 
folded in  his  Novum  Orgamim^  "  or  True  Directions  con- 
cerniny  the  Interpretation  of  Nature^' — whose  beneficent 
intent  is  so  obvious  and  so  familiar  to  all.  At  an  early 
date,  when  his  mighty  project  was  still  a  sei^ret  confined 
to  himself,  to  quote  from  Spedding: 

"  He  believed  that  he  had  by  accident  stumbled  upon 
a  Thought,  which  duly  followed  out  would  in  the  course 
of  generations  make  man  the  master  of  all  natural  forces. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAliE.  311 

The  '  Interpretation  of  Nature  '  was,  according  to  his  spec- 
ulation, the  '  Kingdom  of  Man.'  To  plant  this  thought 
in  men's  minds  under  such  conditions  that  it  should  have 
the  best  chance  of  growing  and  bearing  its  proper  fruit  in 
due  season  was  the  great  aspiration  of  his  life.  .  .  .  On 
one  of  these  days,  his  imagination  wandering  far  into  the 
future,  showed  him  in  vision  the  first  instalment  ready  for 
publication,  and  set  him  upon  thinking  how  he  should  an- 
nounce it  to  the  world.  The  result  of  this  meditation  he 
fortunately  confided  to  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  being  found 
long  after  in  his  cabinet,  revealed  the  secret  which  it  had 
kept."  It  is  entitled,  Of  the  Inter 2ir elation  of  Nature^ — 
Procm^  and  opens  with  these  pregnant  words  : 

"  Believing  that  I  was  born  for  the  service  of  man- 
kind, and  regarding  the  care  of  the  commonwealth  as  a 
kind  of  common  property  which,  like  the  air  and  water, 
belong  to  everybody,  I  set  myself  to  consider  in  what  way 
mankind  might  be  best  served,  and  what  service  I  was 
myself  best  fitted  by  nature  to  perform." 

And  in  conclusion,  he  writes : 

"  For  myself,  my  heart  is  not  set  upon  any  of  those 
things  which  depend  upon  external  accidents.  I  am  not 
hunting  for  fame  :  I  have  no  desire  to  found  a  sect,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  heresiarchs  ;  and  to  look  for  any  pri- 
vate gain  from  such  an  undertaking  as  this,  I  count  both 
ridiculous  and  base.  Enough  for  me  the  consciousness 
of  well-deserving,  and  those  real  and  effectual  results  with 
which  Fortune  itself  cannot  interfere." 

The  unfinished  manuscript  of  this,  Of  the  Interpreta- 
tion ofNatnre,  from  whose  Proem  the  foregoing  is  quoted, 
was  found  among  Bacon's  papers  and  published  after  his 
death.  It  contains  the  germ  and  initial  but  incomplete 
development  of  his  proposed  Philosophy.  And  the  above 
utterance  is  especially  significant  and  helpful  to  our  com- 
prehension of  the  man,  in  the  light  of  the  astonishing  fact 
(which  appears  from  its  title-page,  published  in  facsimile 


312  FRANCIS    BACON 

in  Vol.  III.  of  Ellis  and  Spedding's  edition  of  his  Works) 
that  Bacon,  for  reasons  known  only  to  himself,  originally 
purposed  its  publication,  not  in  his  own  name,  but  under 
the  pseudonym  of  "  Valerius  Terminus"  "  with  annota- 
tions by  Hermes  Stella,''^  another  pseudonym. 

Mr.  Robert  Leslie  Ellis,  Spedding's  co-editor,  who  wrote 
its  explanatory  preface,  comments  upon  this  as  follows : 

"  It  is  impossible  to  ascertain  the  motive  which  deter- 
mined Bacon  to  give  to  the  supposed  author  the  name  of 
Valerius  Terminus,  or  to  his  commentator,  of  whose  anno- 
tations we  have  no  remains,  that  of  Hermes  Stella.  It 
may  be  conjectured  that  by  the  name  Terminus  he  in- 
tended to  intimate  that  the  new  philosophy  would  put  an 
end  to  the  wandering  of  mankind  in  search  of  truth,  that 
it  would  be  the  terminus  ad  quern  in  which  when  it  was 
once  attained  the  mind  would  finally  acquiesce.  Again 
the  obscurity  of  the  text  was  to  be  in  some  measure  re- 
moved by  the  annotations  of  Stella ;  not  however  wholly, 
for  Bacon  in  the  epitome  of  the  eighteenth  chapter  com- 
mends the  manner  of  publishing  knowledge  '  whereby  it 
shall  not  be  to  the  capacity  nor  taste  of  all,  but  as  it  were 
single  and  adapt  its  reader.'  Stella  was  therefore  to 
throw  a  kind  of  starlight  on  the  subject,  enough  to  pre- 
vent the  student's  losing  his  way,  but  not  much  more." 

Bacon's  motive  in  thus  purposing  in  the  beginning  to 
withhold  his  name  from  a  work  he  so  highly  esteemed, 
and  which  might  have  conferred  upon  it  such  lustre  and 
reputation  almost  at  the  outset  of  his  career,  nuist  remain 
purely  a  matter  of  conjecture.  But  we  may  rest  assured, 
from  his  own  utterances,  that  it  was  planned  in  furtherance 
of  his  loftier  purpose,  "to  plant  this  thought  in  men's 
minds  under  such  conditions  that  it  should  have  the  best 
chance  of  growing  and  bearing  its  proper  fruit  in  due 
season,"  and  that  this  was  with  him  paramount  to  any 
personal  considerations. 

Afterwards,  the  conditions  duiiiged,  and  with  them  his 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  313 

plans :  for  when  the  completed  Novum  Organum  was 
finally  published  in  1620,  his  acquired  dignity  and  lofty 
position  as  Lord  Verulam,  High  Chancellor  of  England, 
gave  to  the  work  additional  weight  and  force,  and  his 
name  in  these  terms  was  engraved  upon  its  title-page.* 

*  Upon  this  point  we  gain  additional  light  from  the  following 
passage,  in  a  letter  he  wrote  in  1591  to  his  uncle  Burghley, 
seeking  his  kindly  aid  towai'ds  his  advancement : 

"  Lastly,  I  confess  that  I  have  as  vast  contemplative  ends,  as 
I  have  moderate  civil  ends :  for  I  have  taken  all  knowledge  to 
be  my  province ;  and  if  I  could  purge  it  of  two  sorts  of  rovers, 
whereof  the  one  with  frivolous  disputations,  confutations,  and 
verbosities,  the  other  with  blind  experiments  and  auricular  tra- 
ditions and  impostures,  hath  committed  so  many  spoils,  I  hope 
I  shall  bring  in  industrious  observations,  grounded  conclusions, 
and  profitable  inventions  and  discoveries ;  the  best  state  of  that 
province.  This,  wTiether  it  be  curiosity,  or  vain  glory,  or  na- 
ture, or  (if  one  take  it  favorably)  ■philanthroina^  is  so  fixed  in 
my  mind  as  it  cannot  be  removed.  And  I  do  easily  see,  that 
pln,ce  of  any  7-easonable  coiuitenance  doth  bring  comtnandment 
of  viore  wits  than  a  man's  own ;  which  is  the  thing  I  greatly 
affectr 

(See  also  Professor  Adamson's  able  article  on  Bacon,  in  the 
EncycloiKpAia  Britannica^,  for  a  concise  statement  of  his  striv- 
ing after  lofty  ends,  "  the  key  to  Bacon's  life."  ) 

As  an  aid  to  our  comprehension  of  its  mystery,  though  not  in 
extenuation  (for  Bacon  said  of  himself,  in  just  contrition  :  "  I 
was  the  justest  judge  that  was  in  England  these  fifty  years : 
but  it  was  the  ju,st est  censure  in  i^arliament  that  was  these  two 
hundred  years."),  we  ventui-e  to  add,  in  this  connection,  8ped- 
ding's  charitable  Interpretation  of  his  downfall : 

"  So  far  therefore,  his  actual  course  was  (pilte  consistent  with 
his  first  design  ;  and  It  is  even  probable  that  this  very  constancy 
was  in  some  degree  answerable  for  the  great  error  and  misfor- 
tune of  his  life.  That  an  absorbing  interest  in  one  thing  should 
induce  negligence  of  others  not  less  important.  Is  an  accident 
only  too  natural  and  familiar ;  and  If  he  did  not  allow  the 
NoviDii  Organum  to  Interfere  with  his  attention  to  the  causes 
which  came  before  him  in  Chancery,  it  did  pi-obably  prevent 


P,14  niANCIS    BACON 

The  dominant  spirit  which  animated  his  work  is  mani- 
fested repeatedly  in  further  utterances.  Thus,  in  his  De 
Augmentis,  Seventh  Book,  he  says : 

"  For  myself,  most  excellent  king,  I  may  truly  say  that 

him  from  attending  as  carefully  as  he  should  and  otherwise 
would  have  done  to  the  proceedings  of  his  servants  and  the 
state  of  his  accounts." 

His  intimate  friend,  Sir  Tobie  Mathew,  said  of  him:  "It  is 
not  his  greatness  that  I  admire,  but  his  virtue :  it  is  not  the 
favors  I  have  received  from  him  (infinite  though  they  be)  that 
have  thus  enthralled  and  enchained  my  heart,  but  his  whole 
life  and  character;  which  are  such  that,  if  he  were  of  an  in- 
ferior condition  I  could  not  honor  him  the  less,  and  if  he  were 
my  enemy  I  sliould  not  the  less  love  and  endeavor  to  serve  him." 

And  after  his  fall,  Ben  Jonson  said :  "  My  conceit  of  his  per- 
son was  never  increased  toward  him  by  his  place  or  honors : 
but  I  have  and  do  reverence  him,  for  the  greatness  that  was 
only  proper  to  himself,  in  that  he  seemed  to  me,  ever  by  his 
work,  one  of  the  greatest  men,  and  most  worthy  of  admiration, 
that  had  been  in  many  ages.  In  his  adversity,  I  ever  prayed  that 
God  would  give  him  strength ;  for  greatness  he  could  not  want. 
Neither  could  I  coiidole  in  a  word  or  syllable  for  him,  as  know- 
ing no  accident  could  do  harm  to  virtue,  but  rather  help  to 
make  it  manifest." 

May  God  grant,  that  some  day,  the  mystery  may  be  compre- 
hended, in  an  intelligent,  all-embracing  charity.  And  possibly 
the  overruling  hand  of  Providence  turned  his  downfall  to  good; 
as  was  Bacon's  faith.  In  a  letter  to  King  James  he  wrote: 
"I  have  now  (by  God's  merciful  chastisement  and  by  his 
special  providence)  time  and  leisure  to  put  my  talent,  or  half- 
talent,  or  what  it  is,  to  such  exchanges  as  may  perhaps  exceed 
the  interest  of  an  active  life." 

It  should  be  noted  that  it  was  during  this  period  of  his  retire- 
ment that  the  plays  were  perpetuated  to  posterity,  through  their 
collection  and  ])ublication  in  the  folio  of  1 623 ;  many  of  them 
here  appearing  in  print  for  the  first  time,  and  others  with  ma- 
terial modifications :  wliile  they  were  originally  composed  (the 
fh'st  of  them  appearing  anonymously)  during  the  period  when 
he  was  comparatively  a  briefless  bnnister. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  315 

both  in  this  present  work,  and  in  those  I  intend  to  pub- 
lish hereafter,  I  often  advisedly  and  deliberately  throw 
aside  the  dignity  of  my  name  and  wit  (if  such  thing  be) 
in  my  endeavor  to  advance  human  interests." 

He  writes  to  Dr.  Playfer,  asking  his  aid  in  the  trans- 
lation of  the  Advancement  of  Learning  into  Latin  : 

"  If  I  do  not  err  (for  any  judgment  that  a  man  maketh 
of  his  own  doings  had  need  to  be  spoken  with  a  Si  nvn- 
qiKim  fellit  imago),  1  have  this  opinion,  that  if  I  had 
sought  my  own  commendation,  it  had  been  a  much  fitter 
course  for  me  to  have  done  as  gardeners  used  to  do,  by 
taking  their  seeds  and  slips,  and  rearing  them  first  into 
plants,  and  so  uttering  them  in  pots,  when  they  are  in 
flower,  and  in  their  best  state.  But  for  as  much  as  my 
end  was  merit  of  the  state  of  learning  to  my  power,  and 
not  glory  ;  and  because  my  purpose  was  rather  to  excite 
other  men's  wits  than  to  magnify  my  own  ;  I  was  desirous 
to  prevent  the  iucertainties  of  my  own  life  and  times,  by 
uttering  rather  seeds  than  plants :  nay  and  f urder  (as  the 
proverb  is)  by  sowing  with  the  basket,  than  with  the 
hand." 

And  again,  he  writes  to  Bishop  Andrews : 

"  As  for  my  Essays,  and  some  other  particulars  of  that 
nature,  I  count  them  but  as  the  recreations  of  my  other 
studies,  and  in  that  sort  purpose  to  continue  them  ;  though 
I  am  not  ignorant  that  those  kind  of  writings  would,  with 
less  pains  and  embracement  (perhaps)  yield  more  lustre 
and  reputation  to  my  name  than  othos  which  I  have  in 
hand.  But  I  account  the  use  that  a  man  should  seek  of 
the  publishing  of  his  own  writings  before  his  death,  to  be 
but  an  untimely  anticipation  of  that  which  is  proper  to 
follow  a  man,  and  not  to  go  along  with  him." 

Dr.  Rawley,  in  his  Preface  to  Bacon's  Natural  History, 
says : 

"  I  have  heard  his  lordship  often  say,  that  if  he  should 
have  served  the  glory  of  his  own  name,  he  had  been  better 
not  to  have  published  this  Natural  History :  for  it  may 


316  FRANCIS    BACON 

seem  an  undigested  heap  of  particulars,  and  cannot  have 
that  lustre  which  books  cast  into  methods  have ;  but  that 
he  resolved  to  prefer  the  good  of  men,  and  that  which 
might  best  secure  it,  before  anything  that  might  have  rela- 
tion to  himself." 

And  especially  significant,  because  of  its  direct  bearing, 
is  the  sentence  already  quoted  from  his  prayer,  found 
among  his  papers  after  his  death : 

"  I  have  (though  in  a  despised  weed)  livocured  the  good 
of  all  men.''''     (See  ante^  page  89.) 

Moreover,  it  was  strikingly  characteristic  of  Bacon,  that 
he  worked  for  future  ages  and  for  posterity.  This  is  evi- 
dent in  the  whole  scope  and  tenor  of  the  great  body  of  his 
writings,  and  also  from  his  utterances  in  letters,  which 
fortunately  have  been  preserved.  Thus,  we  find  the  fol- 
lowing, in  a  letter  he  wrote  to  Count  Gondomar  of  Spain, 
formerly  ambassador  in  London  : 

"  But  for  myself,  my  age,  my  fortune,  yea  my  Genius, 
to  which  I  have  hitherto  done  but  scant  justice,  calls  me 
now  to  retire  from  the  stage  of  civil  action  and  betake  my- 
self to  letters,  and  to  the  instruction  of  the  actors  them- 
selves, and  the  service  of  Posterity." 

He  wrote  to  Father  Fulgentio  of  Venice : 

"•  I  wish  to  make  known  to  your  Reverence  my  inten- 
tions with  regard  to  the  writings  which  I  meditate  and 
have  in  hand ;  not  hoping  to  perfect  them,  but  desiring 
to  try ;  and  because  I  write  for  posterity ;  these  things 
requiring  ages  for  their  accomplishment."  * 

To  the  Bishop  of  Ely  he  wrote : 

"  Because  you  were  wont  to  make  me  believe  you  took 

*  Truly,  there  was  a  foundation  for  the  remarkable  expression 
in  one  of  the  Sonnets: 

"  Were't  aught  to  me  I  Ixn-e  the  canopy, 
With  my  extern  the  outward  lionoring, 
Or  laid  great  hoses  far  eterniti/. 
Which  prove  more  short  than  waste  or  ruinhig?" 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  817 

liking  to  my  writings,  1  send  you  some  of  this  vacation's 
fruits  ;  and  thus  much  more  of  my  mind  and  purpose.  I 
hasten  not  to  publish;  ^^erisAiw//  I  would  prevent.  And 
1  am  forced  to  respect  as  well  my  times  as  the  matter." 

And  to  Sir  Tobie  Mathew : 

"  And  I  must  confess  my  desire  to  be,  that  my  writings 
should  not  court  the  present  time,  or  some  few  places,  in 
such  sort  as  might  make  them  either  less  general  to  per- 
sons, or  less  permanent  to  future  ages." 

Such  was  the  mould  in  which  the  plays  were  cast,  in 
intelligently  designed  universality  and  perpetuity.  They 
are  indeed  "  bone  of  his  bone,  and  flesh  of  his  flesh,"  not 
only  in 

"  That  every  word  doth  almost  tell  my  name, 
Showing  their  birth,  and  where  they  did  proceed," 

but  in  such  marked  heredity,  that  in  their  every  element 
they  partake  of  his  greatness.  They  truly  require  ages 
for  the  maturity  of  their  comprehension.  Gervinus,  look- 
ing backward,  said,  in  1850,  that  it  had  required  two  centu- 
ries to  understand  them.  But  succeeding  generations  find 
ever  new  vistas  opening  before  them.  And  to-day,  after 
the  lapse  of  nearly  three  centuries,  we  are  conscious  that 
we  are  only  just  beginning  to  comprehend  their  amazing 
depth,  their  moral  power,  and  the  grandeur  of  their  em- 
bodied purpose. 

And  how  rich  is  the  legacy  in  its  Interjyretation  of  Man, 
as  he  is,  in  his  essential  nature,  in  a  veritable  '■'  model " 
of  his  constitution,  and  in  absolute  fidelity  to  the  realities  ! 
And  in  this,  also,  we  discern  the  coursing  of  the  very  life- 
blood  of  their  creator. 

In  his  Novum  Organum,  he  states  in  a  word,  his  fund- 
amental purpose : 

"  For  I  am  building  in  the  human  understanding  a  true 
model  of  the  world,  such  as  it  is  in  fact,  not  such  as  a 
man's  own  reason  would  have  it  be." 


.'VI 8  FRANCIS  nvrox 

Ami  he  thus  eloquently  advocates  his  work,  in  contrast 
with  the  methods  previously  pursued,  which  for  centuries 
liad  produced  only  "  a  crude  liquor  like  water  ": 

"  Whereas  I  pledge  mankind  in  a  liquor  strained  from 
countless  grapes,  from  grapes  ripe  and  fully  seasoned,  col- 
lected in  clusters  and  gathered,  and  then  squeezed  in  the 
press,  and  finally  purified  and  clarified  in  the  vat." 

Such  is  the  glorious  vintage  of  the  realities ;  which 
Bacon  inaugurated,  and  which  has  since  so  enriched  the 
life  of  man  ;  lightening  his  lot,  and  gladdening  his  heart. 

And  how  grandly,  almost  literally,  is  the  pledge  ful- 
filled in  the  plays !  Poetry  that  is  merely  subjective, 
"  evolved  from  the  inner  consciousness,"  or  that  is  ladled 
from  surface  pools,  is  but  as  "  water,"  compared  with  this 
rich,  nourishing  wine,  vitalized  with  nature's  spirit,  sur- 
charged with  the  verities  of  life,  and  expressed  from  grapes 
that  are  the  objective  realities  of  existence. 

In  the  beginning,  we  traced  the  origin  of  every  thought, 
metaphor,  and  turn  of  expression  in  a  lengthy  passage 
from  The  Teiwpest:  afterwards,  we  entered  his  Store- 
house, and  observed  in  detail  the  close  interweaving  of  his 
garnered  observations  into  the  innermost  texture  of  the 
plays :  and  again,  we  followed  the  workings  of  the  same 
process,  upon  broader  lines,  in  the  whole  conception,  de- 
velopment, and  elaboration  of  the  Julius  Gmsar ;  and 
throughout,  and  at  every  turn,  we  have  been  brought  into 
intimate,  appreciative  contact  with  this  continual "  expres- 
sion "  of  the  realities,  the  most  vital  element  and  charac- 
teristic of  the  plays, —  their  very  marrow,  substance,  and 
life-blood. 

Have  we  not  seen,  with  our  own  eyes,  grapes  that  he 
had  collected,  laboriously,  from  every  field  and  province 
of  nature's  kingdom  ;  grapes  ripe  and  fully  seasoned  ;  and 
of  her  infinite  variety,  from  the  most  commonplace  to  the 


AXD    IIIS    SIIAKESPEAUK.  319 

least  known  of  her  productions  ;  including  the  ripest  and 
best  fruitage  of  classic  soils,  as  well  as  the  choicest  pro- 
ducts of  mediaeval  and  modern  tillage  —  and  in  almost 
countless  numbers  ;  collected  in  clusters,  in  crowding  pro- 
fusion? Have  we  not  also  witnessed,  how  they  were 
squeezed  in  the  press  of  his  powerful  intellect,  their  rich- 
est juices  expressed,  and  then  purified  and  clarified  in  the 
vast  chambers  of  his  capacious  mind  ? 

And  who  can  do  justice  to  the  quality  of  the  liquor,  as 
it  was  poured  forth  so  freely  to  delight  the  world  ?  Drawn, 
every  drop,  from  nature's  fount,  it  partakes  of  her  fresh- 
ness and  vitality.  Age  has  only  mellowed  it,  developing 
an  appreciably  richer  flavor  and  a  more  exquisite  bouquet. 
Its  good  cheer,  both  refreshing  and  inspiring,  quickens 
the  intellect,  opens  the  understanding,  and  broadens  the 
vision :  while  our  enraptured  hearts  are  awakened  to 
larger  sympathies,  and  brought  into  closer  intimacy  with 
humanity.  Its  exhilaration  is  expanding,  lifting  us  out 
of  our  narrow  self-consciousness,  into  the  broad,  privileged 
realm  of  universal  existence,  and  into  touch  with  its  vivi- 
fying spirit.  It  is  preeminently  an  healthful  cup,  imbued 
with  instruction,  and  whose  essence  is  the  distillation  of 
wisdom.      It  is  the  wine  of  life. 

And  now  that  we  so  much  better  understand  him  who 
thus  procured  our  good,  the  loving  spirit  that  prompted 
his  labors,  his  lofty  motives,  his  comprehensive  design, 
and  its  glorious  fulfillment ;  surely,  the  hour  of  our  recog- 
nition of  his  work  is  an  appropriate  time  for  the  long  de- 
layed acknowledgment  of  his  magnificent  pledge.  The 
tide  at  length  has  turned,  and  the  bread  he  so  freely  cast 
upon  the  waters  is  being  wafted  back  towards  the  shores 
where  time  merges  into  eternity.  The  divine  promise 
still  holds  good,  unlimited  as  to  time  or  place.  And  it 
may  be,  that  even  now,  his  heart  is  gladdened,  as  our  mis- 


;;2()  FRANCIS  bacon 

coiueptions  are  swept  away,  ami  his  dearly  beloved  man- 
kind is  entering  into  a  better  comprehension  of  himself, 
his  motives,  and  his  accomplishments. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  certainly  the  draught  will  be  all  the 
sweeter,  if  it  be  mingled  with  the  incense  of  a  grateful 
heart.  And  so,  in  no  extravagance,  but  in  befitting  recog- 
nition of  his  inestimable  services  to  mankind,  whenever 
we  partake  of  the  cup  he  so  generously  provided,  let  it  be 
in  grateful  acceptance  of  his  eloquent  pledge,  in  the  spirit 
in  which  it  was  given  ;  and  with  heart  responding  to 
heart,  all  over  the  world,  and  through  all  the  "  ages  yet 
to  be,"  let  us  drink  it,  in  glad  accord,  to  the  memory  of 
Francis  Bacon,  our  bountiful,  aye  twice-bountiful  Bene- 
factor. 


AND  HIS   SHAKESPEAKE.  321 


CHAPTER  XL 

We  may  now  confidently  widen  the  range  of  our  inquiry ; 
turning  to  the  consideration  of  another  fundamental  qual- 
ity of  the  plays,  one  universally  recognized,  and  especially 
significant  in  its  expression  of  the  personality  of  the  Poet. 
To  fairly  put  the  question :  Had  Bacon  that  wonderful 
imaginative  power,  whose  display  in  the  Shakespeare  has 
so  astonished  the  world;  giving  realization  to  visions, 
which  in  their  penetration  and  range  are  fairly  bewilder- 
ing to  our  comprehension,  in  thoughts  clothed  in  the  most 
gorgeous  imagery  ever  fashioned  from  nature's  phenomena? 
The  poetic  faculty  is  something  exceedingly  difficult  to 
define,  especially  in  its  essential  characteristics,  as  dis- 
played for  example  in  prose  writings.  One  must  pene- 
trate beneath  the  distinctions  and  peculiarities  incident  to 
the  widely  divergent  structural  forms  of  poetry  and  prose, 
and  fasten  upon  something  underlying  all  that  is  funda- 
mental in  its  character,  its  vital  and  vitalizing  principle. 
This  we  take  to  be,  essentially,  the  creative  iiower.  And 
this  is  perhaps  best  comprehended  through  its  limitations. 
The  Divine  Creator,  through  the  impartation  of  himself, 
brought  into  existence  the  universe,  whose  sustaining 
power  is  His  energy,  and  whose  development  is  the  evolu- 
tion of  His  thought.  But  man  cannot  rise  to  such  dignity. 
He  can  only  deal  with  materials  already  in  existence.  And 
moreover,  ci'eated  in  His  image,  his  creations  are  also  in 
imagery  —  whether  his  instrument  be  brush,  or  chisel,  or 
pen,  and  his  vehicle  canvas,  stone,  or  words. 

21 


322  FRANCIS    BACON 

In  common  in  all  these  Arts,  the  first  attribute  of 
man's  creative  power  is  vision,  insight  into  the  realm  of 
existence,  the  discernment  of  an  inner,  subtler  something 
which  is  given  manifestation  in  some  department  of  na- 
ture. In  primary  terms,  it  may  be  some  inherent  ele- 
ment, quality,  attribute,  or  associative  relation,  which  for 
convenience  we  term  spiritual,  but  which  is  no  less  real 
than  the  material  which  is  the  vehicle  of  its  expression. 
Thus,  for  illustration,  it  was  through  this  vision  that 
Corot  attained  to  his  magnificent  grasp  of  the  supreme 
quality  of  joyousness  that  pervades  all  nature  at  the  birth 
of  the  new  day,  in  its  resurrection  from  the  night. 

Having  thus  attained  to  its  clear  perception,  in  part 
through  its  isolation  in  mental  conception  from  the  thou- 
sand other  distracting  qualities  attendant  in  nature,  man's 
creative  power  gives  to  this  quality  concrete  representa- 
tion, in  the  similitude  of  nature's  mode  of  expression ; 
but  intensified  to  our  comprehension  through  its  subtle 
accentuation.  For  it  is  reerabodied  in  imagery  of  nature 
so  chosen  and  combined  as  to  give  to  this  quality  "  co7i- 
centrated  manifestationy  It  is  the  enshrinement  within 
the  outward  form  of  an  inner,  animating  spirit,  equally 
perceptible  to  our  apprehension  —  the  vital  element  in  the 
organic  whole.  The  work  is  thus  distinctively  a  creation, 
a  perpetual  source  of  delight,  and  in  its  comprehension,  a 
revelation.  And  such  is  the  triumph  of  art  that  even 
things  invisible  are  thus  given  visible,  tangible  represen- 
tation. Thus,  for  example,  Daniel  Chester  French,  in  his 
masterpiece  of  modern  sculpture,  "  Death  and  the  Sculp- 
tor," has  given  to  the  awful  mystery  of  death,  in  its  inscru- 
table but  inexorable  sway,  physical  expression  and  embod- 
iment, in  the  enshrouding  gloom,  the  sombre  but  impassive 
face,  the  silently  compelling  gesture,  and  in  every  detail 
of  the  figure,  —  all  expressive  of  things  as  real  as  they  are 
manifest. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  323 

Coming  specifically  to  words  as  the  medium  of  expres- 
sion, the  distinctive  mode  of  operation  is  essentially  the 
same.  It  is  the  like  work  of  the  same  creative  power. 
There  is  first,  vision,  penetrating  beyond  the  ordinary 
sight  into  the  inner  life  and  constitution  of  things ;  dis- 
cerning here  or  there  a  subtle,  intangible  something  which 
nature  silently  voices,  a  quality,  a  vital  relation,  or  it  may 
be  a  whole  congeries  of  relations.  This  mighty  power 
lays  hold  upon  it,  encompasses  it,  and  compresses  it  into 
the  condensation  of  an  idea.  And  so  vivid  is  the  concep- 
tion, that  it  seemingly  comes  like  an  inspiration.  There 
is  thence  developed  an  entity,  complete  in  itself,  and  almost 
self -existing,  once  it  is  born.  For  there  is  a  birth  as  well 
as  a  conception.  The  thought  is  delivered  to  the  world 
by  this  wonderful  faculty  enshrined  within  a  bodily  form, 
concrete  and  coherent,  and  fashioned  from  materials  com- 
mon and  familiar  to  all.  It  is  clothed  as  in  the  flesh  in  a 
representative  imagery,  so  beautifully  adapted,  so  fitting, 
and  so  perfectly  analogous  in  its  similitude  to  the  embod- 
ied thought,  that  it  seems  ordained  from  the  beginning  for 
its  investment.  The  whole  is  indeed  a  new  creation, 
instinct  with  life  ;  for  the  grosser  outer  form  is  quickened 
by  the  presence  of  the  subtler  spirit  within.  And  their 
union  is  so  organic,  that  the  thought,  in  its  distinct  indi- 
viduality and  its  precise  shade  of  meaning,  is  known  to 
us  only  under  the  guise  of  its  material  form  ;  while  over 
this  it  is  so  dominant  that  the  imagery  but  reveals  to  us 
the  beautiful  perfection  of  that  which  is  enshrined  within  it. 

To  follow  this  up  by  a  discussion  of  the  serious  prose 
writings  of  any  of  the  great  dramatic  poets  of  the  world, 
as  for  example,  of  Goethe  or  Schiller,  who  also  wrote 
upon  scientific  and  philosophical  subjects,  and  to  deduce 
from  them,  and  to  delineate  in  clear  outlines  the  charac- 
teristic workings  of  this  unique  faculty,  as  they  might  be 
revealed  in  their  mode  of  thought  and  style  of  expression, 


324  FKANCIS    BACON 

would  be  a  work  of  exceeding  difficulty.     It  might  per- 
haps be  accomplished,  though  only  by  a  master  critic. 

We  can  hardly  realize  the  fact,  but  precisely  this  work 
has  been  done  on  Bacon's  prose,  and  by  one  of  the  ablest 
critics  of  modern  times.  And,  what  is  of  the  utmost  sig- 
nificance, it  was  not  done  by  one  seeking  specially  to  find 
some  development  of  the  poetic  faculty ;  but  on  the  con- 
trary, it  was  the  work  of  one  aiming  only  to  grasp  and  to 
delineate  accurately  and  comprehensively  the  essential 
qualities  and  distinctive  characteristics  of  Bacon's  style 
and  mode  of  thought.  We  refer  to  Taine,  whose  History 
of  English  Literature  is  universally  recognized  as  a  mas- 
terpiece of  literary  criticism.  A  somewhat  extended 
quotation  is  perhaps  admissible  i  both  on  account  of  the 
interest  of  the  subject,  and  because  of  the  keen  insight 
displayed  by  this  singularly  acute,  penetrating,  and  com- 
prehensive critic.     Of  Bacon  he  says : 

"  In  this  band  of  scholars,  dreamers,  and  enquirers,  ap- 
pears the  most  comprehensive,  sensible,  originative  of  the 
minds  of  the  age,  Francis  Bacon,  a  great  and  luminous 
intellect,  one  of  the  finest  of  this  poetic  progeny,  who,  like 
his  predecessors,  was  naturally  disposed  to  clothe  his  ideas 
in  the  most  splendid  dress.  In  this  age,  a  thought  did  not 
seem  complete  until  it  had  assumed  a  form  and  color : 
but  what  distinguishes  him  from  the  others  is,  that  with 
him  an  image  only  serves  to  concentrate  meditation.  He 
reflected  long,  stamped  on  his  mind  all  the  parts  and  joints 
of  his  subject ;  and  then,  instead  of  dissipating  his  com- 
pleted idea  in  a  graduated  chain  of  reasoning,  he  embodies 
it  in  a  comparison  so  expressive,  exact,  transparent,  that 
behind  the  figure  we  perceive  all  the  details  of  the  idea, 
like  a  liquor  in  a  fair  crystal  vase.  Judge  of  his  style  by 
a  single  example : 

" '  For  as  water,  whether  it  be  the  dew  of  heaven  or  the 
Bpringa  of  the  earth,  easily  scatters  and  loses  itself  in  the  ground, 
except  it  be  collected  into  some  receptacle,  where  it  may  by 


AND   niS    SHAKESPEARE.  825 

union  and  consort  comfort  and  sustain  itself  (and  for  tliat  caus.i', 
the  industry  of  man  has  devised  aqueducts,  cisterns,  and  pools, 
and  likewise  beautified  them  with  various  ornaments  of  mag- 
nificence and  state,  as  well  as  for  use  and  necessity):  so  this 
excellent  liquor  of  knowledge,  whether  it  descend  from  divine 
inspiration  or  spring  from  human  sense,  would  soon  jierish  and 
vanish  into  oblivion,  if  it  were  not  preserved  in  books,  traditions, 
conferences,  and  especially  in  places  appointed  for  such  matters, 
as  Universities,  Colleges,  and  schools,  where  it  may  have  both  a 
fixed  habitation,  and  means  and  opportunity  of  increasing  and 
collecting  itself.'  *  The  greatest  error  of  all  the  rest,  is  the  mis- 
taking or  misplacing  of  the  last  or  farthest  end  of  knowledge : 
...  as  if  there  were  sought  in  knowledge  a  couch  whereupon 
to  rest  a  searching  and  restless  spirit ;  or  a  terrace,  for  a  wan- 
dering and  variable  mind  to  walk  up  and  down  with  a  fair 
pi'ospect ;  or  a  tower  of  state,  for  a  proud  mind  to  raise  itself 
upon ;  or  a  fort  or  commanding  ground,  for  strife  and  conten- 
tion ;  or  a  shop,  for  profit  or  sale ;  and  not  a  rich  storehouse,  for 
the  glory  of  the  Creator,  and  the  relief  of  men's  estate.' 

"This  is  Lis  mode  o£  thought,  by  symbols,  not  by 
analysis ;  instead  of  explaining  his  idea,  he  transposes 
and  translates  it, — translates  it  entire,  to  the  smallest  de- 
tails ;  enclosing  all  in  the  majesty  of  a  grand  period,  or 
in  the  brevity  of  a  striking  sentence.  Thence  springs  a 
style  of  admirable  richness,  gravity,  and  vigor,  now  sol- 
emn and  symmetrical,  now  concise  and  piercing,  always 
elaborate  and.  full  of  color.  There  is  nothing  in  English 
prose  superior  to  his  diction.  Thence  is  derived  also  his 
manner  of  conceiving  of  things.  He  is  not  a  dialec- 
tician, like  Ilobbs  or  Descartes,  apt  in  arranging  ideas, 
in  educing  one  from  another,  in  leading  his  reader  from 
the  simple  to  the  complex  by  an  unbroken  chain.  He  is 
a  producer  of  conceptions  and  of  sentences.  The  matter 
being  explored  he  says  to  us :  '  Such  it  is ;  touch  it  not 
on  that  side ;  it  must  be  approached  from  the  other.' 
Nothing  more  ;  no  proof,  no  effort  to  convince :  he  affirms, 
and  does  nothing  more ;  he  has  thought  in  the  manner  of 
artists  and  poets,  and  he  speaks  after  the  manner  of 
prophets  and  seers.  Cogita  et  Visa,  this  title  of  one  of 
his  books  might  be  the  title  of  all.     The  most  admirable. 


326  FRANCIS    BACON 

the  Novum  Organum,  is  a  string  of  aphorisms, —  a  col- 
lection, as  it  were,  of  scientific  decrees,  as  of  an  oracle  who 
foresees  the  future  and  reveals  the  truth.  And  to  make 
the  resemblance  complete,  he  expresses  them  by  poetical 
figures,  by  enigmatic  abbreviations,  almost  in  Sibylline 
verses :  Idola  sj^ecies^  Idola  trlbus,  Idola  for'i^  Idola 
theatric  every  one  will  recall  these  strange  names,  by  which 
he  signifies  the  four  kinds  of  illusions  to  which  man  is 
subject. 

"  Shakespeare  and  the  Seers  do  not  contain  more  vigor- 
ous or  expressive  condensations  of  thought,  more  resem- 
bling inspiration,  and  in  Bacon  they  are  to  be  found  every- 
where. In  short,  his  process  is  that  of  the  creators  ;  it  is 
intuition,  not  reasoning.  When  he  has  laid  up  his  store 
of  facts,  the  greatest  possible,  on  some  vast  subject,  on 
some  entire  province  of  the  mind,  on  the  whole  anterior 
philosophy,  on  the  general  condition  of  the  sciences,  on  the 
power  and  limits  of  human  reason,  he  casts  over  all  this 
a  comprehensive  view,  as  it  were  a  great  net,  brings  up  a 
universal  idea,  condenses  his  idea  into  a  maxim,  and  hands 
it  to  us  with  the  words,  '  Verify  and  profit  by  it.' " 

Here  is  a  clear  presentation,  by  a  critic  of  unquestioned 
ability,  of  the  workings  of  the  creative  faculty  in  a  colossal 
intellect ;  which,  indeed,  appears  to  him,  in  its  various 
phases,  as  the  very  personification  of  this  mighty  power. 

But  another  surprise  awaits  us.  When  afterwards, 
Taine  comes  to  consider  the  characteristics  of  the  author 
of  the  Shakespeare,  as  revealed  in  his  works,  his  clear  in- 
sight discerns  in  him  substantially  the  same  peculiarities 
noted  in  his  description  of  Bacon's  mode  of  thought  and 
his  style  of  expression.  It  is  perfectly  obvious  that  this 
was  done  unconsciously  ;  and  it  is  the  more  significant, 
since  it  could  hardly  be  expected,  so  great  are  the  differ- 
ences between  prose  and  poetry,  both  in  style  and  thought. 

After  groping  around  in  the  dim  light  afforded  by  tra- 
dition  and   conjecture   regarding  William  Shakespeare, 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  327 

Taine  turns  gladly  to  the  study  of  the  author  in  his  works. 
He  says : 

"  Of  all  this  we  can  but  conjecture :  if  we  would  see 
the  man  more  closely,  we  must  seek  him  in  his  works. 
Let  us  then  look  for  the  man,  and  in  his  style.  The  style 
explains  the  work  ;  whilst  showing  the  principal  features 
of  the  genius,  it  infers  the  rest.  When  we  have  once 
grasped  the  dominant  faculty,  we  see  the  whole  artist  de- 
veloped like  a  flower. 

"  Shakespeare  imagines  with  copiousness  and  excess  ; 
he  spreads  metaphors  profusely  over  all  he  writes ;  every 
instant  abstract  ideas  are  changed  into  images  ;  it  is  a 
series  of  paintings  that  is  unfolded  in  his  mind.  He  does 
not  seek  them ;  they  come  of  themselves ;  they  crowd 
within  him,  covering  his  arguments  ;  they  dim  with  their 
brightness  the  pure  light  of  logic.  He  does  not  labor  to 
explain  or  prove ;  picture  on  picture,  image  on  image,  he 
is  forever  copying  the  strange  and  splendid  visions  which 
are  engendered  one  within  another,  and  are  heaped  up 
within  him  ...  if  he  speaks  thus,  it  is  not  from  choice, 
but  of  necessity ;  metaphor  is  not  his  whim,  but  the  form 
of  his  thought.  .  .  .  Whosoever  involuntarily  and  natur- 
ally transforms  a  dry  idea  into  an  image,  has  his  brain  on 
fire :  true  metaphors  are  flaming  apparitions,  which  are 
like  a  picture  in  a  flash  of  lightning.  .  .  .  We  pause 
stupefied  before  these  convulsive  metaphors,  which  might 
have  been  written  by  a  fevered  hand  in  a  night's  delirium, 
which  gather  a  pageful  of  ideas  and  pictures  in  half  a  sen- 
tence, which  scorch  the  eyes  they  would  enlighten.  .  .  . 
In  Shakespeare  there  is  no  preparation,  no  adaptation,  no 
development,  no  care  to  make  himself  understood.  Like 
a  too  fiery  and  powerful  horse,  he  bounds,  but  cannot  run. 
He  bridges  in  a  couple  of  words  an  enormous  interval ; 
is  at  the  two  poles  in  a  single  instant.  The  reader  vainly 
looks  for  the  intermediate  track ;  confounded  by  these 
prodigious  leaps,  he  wonders  by  what  miracle  the  poet 
has  entered  upon  a  new  idea  the  very  moment  when  he 
quitted  the  last,  seeing  perhaps  between  the  two  images  a 


328  FRANCIS    P.ACON 

long  scale  of  transitions,  which  we  pace  painfully  step  by 
step,  but  which  he  has  spanned  in  a  stride.  Shakespeare 
flies,  we  creep.  .  .  .  All  that  I  have  said  may  be  com- 
pressed into  a  few  words.  Objects  were  taken  into  his 
mind  organized  and  complete ;  they  pass  into  ours  dis- 
jointed, decomposed,  and  fragmentarily.  He  thought  in 
the  lump,  we  think  piecemeal ;  hence  his  style  and  our 
style — two  languages  not  to  be  reconciled.  We,  for  our 
part,  writers  and  reasoners,  can  note  precisely  by  a  word 
each  isolated  fraction  of  an  idea,  and  represent  the  due 
order  of  its  parts  by  the  due  order  of  our  expressions. 
We  advance  gradually  ;  we  affiliate,  go  down  to  the  roots, 
try  and  treat  our  words  as  numbers,  our  sentences  as  equa- 
tions ;  we  employ  but  general  terms,  which  every  mind  can 
understand,  and  regular  constructions  into  which  every 
mind  can  enter ;  we  attain  justness  and  clearness,  not  life. 
Shakespeare  lets  justness  and  clearness  look  out  for  them- 
selves, and  attains  life.  From  amidst  his  complex  concep- 
tion and  his  colored  semi-vision,  he  grasps  a  fragment,  a 
quivering  fibre,  and  shows  it;  it  is  for  you  from  this  frag- 
ment, to  divine  the  rest.  He,  behind  the  word,  has  a  whole 
jiicture,  an  attitude,  a  long  argument  abridged,  a  mass  of 
swarming  ideas ;  you  knov/  them,  these  abbreviative,  cou- 
densive  words  : — "  And  again:  "This  creative  power  is 
Shakespeare's  great  gift,  and  it  communicates  an  extraor- 
dinary significance  to  his  words.  Every  word  pronounced 
by  one  of  his  characters  enables  us  to  see,  besides  the  idea 
which  it  contains  and  the  emotion  which  prompted  it,  the 
aggregate  of  the  qualities  and  the  entire  character  which 
produced  it — the  mood,  physical  attitude,  bearing,  look  of 
the  man,  all  instantaneously,  with  a  clearness  and  force  ap- 
proached by  no  one.  .  .  .  He  had  the  prodigious  faculty 
of  seeing  in  a  twinkling  of  an  eye  a  complete  character, 
body,  mind,  past  and  present,  in  every  detail  and  every 
depth  of  his  being,  with  the  exact  attitude  and  the  expres- 
sion of  the  face,  which  the  situation  demanded.  A  v/ord 
here  and  there  of  Hamlet  or  Othello  would  need  for  its  ex- 
planation three  pages  of  commentaries ;  each  of  the  half- 


AND    ITIS    SHAKESrEARE.  329 

understood  thoughts,  which  the  commentator  may  have  dis- 
covered, has  left  its  trace  in  the  turn  of  the  phrase,  in  the 
nature  of  the  metaphor,  in  the  order  of  the  words ;  nowa- 
days, in  perusing  these  traces,  we  divine  the  thoughts  ; 
these  innumerable  traces  have  been  impressed  in  a  second, 
within  the  compass  of  a  line.  In  the  next  line  there  are 
as  many,  impressed  just  as  quickly,  and  in  the  same  com- 
pass. You  can  gauge  the  concentration  and  the  velocity 
of  the  imagination  which  creates  thus." 

As  we  carefully  compare,  in  a  broad  and  comprehen- 
sive view,  the  two  pictures  here  presented  and  observe 
their  intimate  resemblance,  though  we  well  know  that  the 
secret  lies  in  the  fact  that  they  are  portraitures  of  one 
and  the  same  unique  personality,  with  but  slight  varia- 
tions, due  solely  to  differences  of  attitude,  of  the  medium, 
and  the  surroundings,  yet  we  cannot  but  express  our  ad- 
miration for  Taine,  as  he  also  is  revealed  in  his  work ; 
and  we  wonder  that  seeing  through  a  glass  darkly,  he  yet 
saw  so  clearly. 

One  other  pair  of  pictures  must  be  presented,  companion 
pieces,  though  drawn  by  different  artists. 

Quoting  briefly  from  the  article  upon  Bacon  in  the  En- 
cyclopcedia  Britannica  :  Prof.  Adamson  says,  with  refer- 
ence to  the  Essays :  "  The  style  is  quaint,  original,  abound- 
ing in  allusions  and  witticisms,  and  rich,  even  to  gorgeous-] 
ness,  with  piled  up  analogies  and  metaphors."  He  con- 
tinues :  "  The  peculiarities  of  Bacon's  style  were  noticed 
very  early  by  his  contemporaries  (See  Letters  and  Life 
I.,  2G8).  Raleigh  and  Jonson  have  both  recorded  their 
opinions  of  it,  but  no  one,  it  seems  to  us,  has  characterized 
it  more  happily  than  his  friend  Sir  Tobie  Mathew :  '  A 
man  so  rare  in  knowledge,  of  so  many  several  kinds,  en- 
dued with  the  facility  and  felicity  of  expressing  it  all  in 
so  elegant,  significant,  so  abundant,  and  yet  so  choice  and 
ravishing  a  way  of  words,  of  metaphors,  of  allusions,  as 
perhaps  the  world  hath  not  seen  since  it  was  a  world.'  " 


330  FRANCIS    BACON 

Compare  this  with  Richard  Grant  White's  graphic  por- 
trayal of  the  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  Shakespear- 
ean style.  This  accomplished  critic,  one  of  the  most  ap- 
preciative of  the  Shakespearean  scholars,  in  his  Genms 
of  Shahespeare  says : 

"  Never  did  intellectual  wealth  equal  in  degree  the 
boundless  riches  of  Shakespeare's  fancy.  He  compelled 
all  art,  all  that  God  had  revealed,  and  all  that  man  had 
discovered,  to  contribute  materials  to  enrich  his  style  and 
enforce  his  thought ;  so  that  the  entire  range  of  human 
knowledge  must  be  laid  under  contribution  to  illustrate 
his  writings.  This  inexhaustible  mine  of  fancy,  furnish- 
ing metaphor,  comparison,  illustration,  impersonation,  in 
ceaseless  alternation,  often  intermingled  so  that  the  one 
cannot  be  severed  from  the  other,  although  the  combina- 
tion is  clearly  seen  and  leaves  a  vivid  impression  on  the 
mind,  is  the  great  distinctive  intellectual  trait  of  Shake- 
speare's style." 

Recognizing  the  now  familiar  lineaments,  we  can  appre- 
ciate the  acumen  displayed  by  Mr. White,  in  his  epitomized 
portrayal  of  Bacon's  personality,  '  though  known  under 
another  name.'      Seeing  not,  yet  saw  he  notwithstanding. 

These  last  pictures,  though  miniature  portraits,  are  well 
worthy  of  being  placed  beside  Taine's  masterpieces.  And 
as  we  embrace  them  all  in  one  comprehensive  view,  we  ai-e 
amazed  at  the  startling  effect.  Behold,  they  are  true 
stereoscopic  pictures,  notwithstanding  the  anomalous  fact 
that  they  are  the  productions  of  several  artists,  working  in 
various  styles,  and  from  different  standpoints.  As  we  re- 
ceive their  impressions  upon  the  "  eye  of  the  mind,"  note 
how  perfectly  they  register.  There  is  neither  blur,  con- 
fusion, nor  antagonism ;  nor  even  a  dreamy  uncertainty 
or  a  hazy  obscurity.  They  fit  together  completely,  blend- 
ing into  one  harmonious  whole ;  details  in  one  filling  blanks 
in  another,  while  repetitions  only  throw  the  prominent  fea- 
tures into  bolder  relief. 


AND    HIS    SIIAKESrEARE.  331 

And  how  lifelike  is  the  portrait  thus  brought  to  view ! 
Such  were  the  deep  insight  and  the  skill  of  the  artists,  and 
so  vivid  is  the  effect  produced  by  the  concentration  of  the 
fourfold  combination,  that  we  are  bi'ought,  as  it  were,  into 
the  very  presence  of  a  great  personality.  We  can  almost 
see  the  operation  of  that  mighty  intellect,  in  its  work  of 
production.  Is  it  true,  that  "  whosoever  involuntarily  and 
naturally  transforms  a  dry  idea  into  an  image  has  his 
brain  on  fire  ?  "  Then  witness  him  at  work  and  gauge,  if 
you  can,  the  white  heat  of  the  flame.  There  is  a  delusion, 
to  which  a  large  portion  of  mankind  is  subject,  a  whole 
mass  of  delusions.  To  us,  they  are  abstractions,  matters 
of  argument  and  of  analytical  discussion,  part  by  part,  in 
orderly  relation.  He  comprehends  the  whole  at  a  glance, 
sweeping  far  beyond  our  reach.  He  takes  in  their  full 
meaning  and  significance :  he  is  at  the  two  poles  in  a  sin- 
gle instant,  and  he  bridges  the  whole  in  a  couple  of  words. 
But  he  does  more  than  that.  In  a  flash  of  flame,  he  creates 
an  impersonation.  A  creature  is  born,  and  into  this  thing 
he  Las  injected  the  whole  of  one  of  these  delusions.  He 
produces  a  whole  family,  and  in  his  Idola  Theatri,  we 
have  the  very  objects  that  mankind  had  all  along  been 
unconsciously  worshiping. 

This  great  and  luminous  intellect,  one  of  the  finest  of 
the  poetic  progeny,  and  the  most  comprehensive,  sensible, 
and  originative  mind  of  the  age,  takes  within  his  grasp 
the  whole  of  some  vast  subject,  some  entire  province  of 
the  mind,  the  general  condition  of  the  sciences,  the  power 
and  limits  of  human  reason,  or  it  may  be,  a  complete 
character,  body,  mind,  past,  and  present,  in  every  detail 
and  every  depth  of  his  being,  with  the  exact  attitude  and 
expression  which  a  given  situation  demands.  From  amidst 
this  complex  conception,  he  lays  hold  upon  a  fragment 
and  shows  it  to  us,  and  behind  the  word,  there  is  a  whole 
picture,  an  attitude,  a  long  argument  abridged,  a  mass  of 


882  FRANCIS    BACON 

swarming  ideas.  Or  casting  over  all  a  comprehensive 
view,  he  brings  up  a  universal  idea,  condenses  it  into  a 
maxim,  or  embodies  it  in  a  figure  so  expressive,  exact, 
transparent,  that  behind  it  we  perceive  all  the  details  of 
the  idea,  like  a  liquor  in  a  fair  crystal  vase.  Each  of  the 
half -understood  thoughts,  which  the  commentator  may 
have  discovered,  has  left  its  trace  in  the  turn  of  the  phrase, 
in  the  nature  of  the  metaphor,  in  the  order  of  the  words  : 
while  every  word  pronounced  by  one  of  his  characters 
enables  us  to  see,  beside  the  idea  which  it  contains  and 
the  emotion  which  prompted  it,  the  aggregate  of  the  qual- 
ities and  the  entire  character  which  produced  it  —  the 
mood,  physical  attitude,  bearing,  look  of  the  man,  all  in- 
stantaneously, with  a  clearness  and  force  approached  by 
no  one. 

He  is  not  a  dialectician,  like  Hobbs  or  Descartes,  apt 
in  arranging  ideas,  in  educing  one  from  another,  in  lead- 
ing his  reader  from  the  simple  to  the  complex  by  an  un- 
broken chain.  Objects  were  taken  into  his  mind  organ- 
ized and  complete  ;  they  pass  into  ours  disjointed,  decom- 
posed, fragmentarily.  He  thought  in  the  lump,  in  a 
string  of  aphorisms ;  we  think  piecemeal.  We,  for  our 
part,  writers  and  reasoners,  can  note  precisely  by  a  word 
each  isolated  fraction  of  an  idea,  and  represent  the  due 
order  of  its  parts  by  the  due  order  of  our  expressions. 
We  advance  gradually,  and  treat  our  words  as  numbers 
and  our  sentences  as  equations ;  but  his  process  is  that  of 
the  creators ;  it  is  intuition,  not  reasoning.  He  bridges 
in  a  couple  of  words  an  enormous  interval ;  is  at  the  two 
poles  in  a  single  instant.  He  is  a  producer  of  conceptions 
and  of  sentences  :  he  speaks  after  the  manner  of  prophets 
and  seers,  or  of  an  oracle  who  foresees  the  future  and  re- 
veals the  truth.  And  to  complete  the  resemblance,  liis 
utterances  are  expressed  in  poetical  figures,  in  enigmatic 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  333 

abbreviations,  almost  in  Sibylline  verses.  Nor  does  he 
dissipate  his  complete  idea  in  a  graduated  chain  of  rea- 
soning :  he  gathers  a  pageful  of  ideas  and  pictures  in  half 
a  sentence,  which  scorch  the  eyes  they  would  enlighten. 
The  seers  do  not  contain  more  vigorous  or  expressive  con- 
densations of  thought,  more  resembling  inspiration,  and 
in  Bacon  they  are  found  everywhere. 

He  does  not  labor  to  explain  or  prove :  there  is  no  prep- 
aration, no  adaptation,  no  development,  no  care  to  make 
himself  understood :  there  is  no  proof,  no  effort  to  con- 
vince ;  he  affirms,  and  does  nothing  more. 

He  thinks  after  the  manner  of  artists  and  poets  ;  picture 
on  picture,  image  on  image,  he  is  forever  copying  the 
strange  and  splendid  visions  which  are  engendered  one 
within  another,  and  are  heaped  up  within  him.  His  mode 
of  thought  is  by  symbols,  not  by  analysis  :  he  spreads  meta- 
phors profusely  over  all  he  writes :  every  instant  abstract 
ideas  are  changed  into  images ;  it  is  a  series  of  paintings 
which  is  unfolded  in  his  mind. 

Take,  for  example,  knowledge.  We  view  it  in  the  ab- 
stract ;  to  us,  it  is  learning,  erudition,  perception  of  the 
truth.  We  employ  but  general  terms,  which  every  mind 
can  understand :  we  attain  justness  and  clearness,  not  life  ; 
we  are  still  dealing  with  the  shadowy,  the  intangible,  the 
unsubstantial.  He  lets  justness  and  clearness  look  out 
for  themselves,  and  attains  life.  His  poetic  eye,  glancing 
from  earth  to  heaven  and  heaven  to  earth,  in  an  exquisite 
frenzy,  discerns  the  twofold  origin  of  this  knowledge  in- 
visible, its  characteristic  flux,  its  hazard  of  oblivion ;  and 
as  imagination  bodies  it  forth  in  befitting  form,  his  pen 
turns  it  to  shape,  and  gives  to  this  airy  nothing  a  local 
habitation  and  an  impersonation.  He  copies  from  a  strange 
and  splendid  vision  of  the  landscape  of  the  universe,  that 
ia  unrolled  before  him.     He  paints  for  us  the  picture  of 


334  FRANCIS    BACON 

an  excellent  liquor  descending  from  divine  inspiration,  or 
si3ringing  from  human  sense,  like  the  dew  of  heaven  or 
the  springs  of  the  earth ;  easily  scattered  and  lost  in  the 
ground,  but  for  union,  consort,  comfort,  and  support,  col- 
lected in  receptacles,  in  aqueducts,  cisterns,  and  pools, 
beautified  with  ornaments  of  magnificence  and  state.  There 
are  heaped  up  pictures,  in  series,  of  men  seeking  in  knowl- 
edge a  couch,  a  terrace,  for  a  wandering  and  variable  mind 
to  walk  up  and  down  with  a  fair  prospect,  a  tower  of  state, 
a  fort,  commanding  ground,  a  shop,  a  rich  storehouse,  for 
the  glory  of  the  Creator  and  the  relief  of  man's  estate. 
Truly,  metaphor  is  not  his  whim,  but  the  form  of  his 
thought.  And  instead  of  explaining  his  idea,  he  trans- 
poses and  translates  it,  translates  it  entire,  to  the  smallest 
details,  enclosing  all  in  the  majesty  of  a  grand  period,  or 
in  the  brevity  of  a  striking  sentence. 

A  man  so  rare  in  knowledge,  of  so  many  several  kinds, 
having  at  his  command  all  that  God  had  revealed,  and  all 
that  man  had  discovered,  so  that  the  entire  range  of  hu- 
man knowledge  must  be  laid  under  contribution  to  illus- 
trate his  writings,  his  intellectual  wealth  is  boundless  in 
its  riches  of  imagery.  It  is  an  inexhaustible  mine  of 
fancy,  furnishing  him  comparison,  illustration,  imperson- 
ation, allusions,  witticisms,  piled  up  analogies  and  meta- 
phors, in  exuberant  profusion ;  and  he  pours  forth  all  in 
a  style  rich  even  to  gorgeousness,  and  in  so  elegant,  sig- 
nificant, so  abundant,  and  yet  so  choice  and  ravishing  a 
way  of  words,  as  perhaps  the  world  hath  not  seen  since  it 
was  a  world. 

We  are  lost  in  wonder  and  admiration.  It  is  a  revela- 
tion,— a  revelation,  indeed,  of  the  splendor,  the  power,  and 
the  inherent  greatness  of  that  wonderful  personality,  Fran- 
cis Bacon. 

Here  are  unfolded,  in  accurate  portrayal,  the  distinct- 
ive characteristics,  the  peculiarities,  and  even  the  idiosyn- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  335 

crasies  of  his  marvellous  intellect,  the  most  phenomenal 
with  which  man  was  ever  endowed.  And  to  us,  the  most 
striking  peculiarity  is  the  manifest  presence,  throughout, 
of  an  integral,  inseparable,  personal  identity ;  cohering  in 
the  perfectly  consistent  unity  underlying  and  pervading 
the  whole  harmony.  It  is  obviously  that  essential,  organic 
unity  which  is  peculiar  to  personality,  and  is  found  no- 
where else.  But  here,  we  find  everywhere  the  unmistak- 
able impress  of  an  individuality  as  definite,  distinct,  and 
as  recognizable,  as  is  that  of  Napoleon  or  of  Carlyle.  In- 
deed, the  masterful  intellects  of  the  world  have  always 
been  unique ;  and  we  call  the  roll  in  vain,  in  our  search 
for  another  possessing  these  pronounced  characteristics,  or 
of  whom  any  one  of  these  pictures  would  be  a  portraiture. 
Verily,  "None  but  himself  could  be  his  parallel." 

One,  and  yet  twain  ;  present,  and  yet  absent ;  owning, 
and  yet  dispossessed  ;  exalted,  and  yet  unhonored ;  seem- 
ingly indifferent,  and  yet  fondly  appreciative  ;  suffering 
the  bitterness  of  deprivation,  and  nevertheless  finding  sol- 
ace in  the  separation  ;  such  was  the  turmoil  involved  in  the 
enactment  of  this  amazing  self-parallelism.  And,  strange 
to  say,  it  has  been  graphically  portrayed,  over  and  over 
again,  in  picture  after  picture,  in  a  whole  series  of  pow- 
erful pictures,  drawn  by  his  master  hand.  Indeed,  it  is 
the  one  continual  theme  of  the  Sonnets^  their  unifying 
bond,  the  motive  and  the  burden  of  their  song. 

The  world  well  knows  that  the  creative  artist  appre- 
ciates, as  does  no  one  else,  the  real  worth  of  his  work. 
The  flower  of  its  beauty  has  unfolded  its  every  petal  un- 
der the  tender  touch  of  his  loving  hand,  and  its  sweet  fra- 
grance is  the  exhalation  of  his  spirit.  It  is  the  blossom 
of  his  love,  the  child  of  his  heart,  the  embodiment  of  all 
that  is  highest,  and  holiest,  and  best  within  him.  And 
yet  his  mouth  is  closed :  any  adequate  expression  of  ap- 


336  FRANCIS    BACON 

preciation  on  his  part  is  subtly  akin  to  self-praise,  and  un- 
der ordinary  circumstances,  is  obtrusive  and  unseemly. 
As  Bacon  elegantly  puts  it,  in  his  Essay,  Of  Friendship : 
"  How  many  things  there  are  which  a  man  cannot,  with 
any  face  or  comliness,  say  or  do  himself  ?  A  man  can 
scarce  allege  his  own  merits  with  modesty,  much  less  ex- 
tol them.  .  .  .  But  all  these  things  are  graceful  in  a 
friend's  mouth,  which  are  blushing  in  a  man's  own." 

To  give  appropriate  expression,  in  unblushing  words, 
to  his  lofty  appreciation  of  his  own  work,  in  perhaps  need- 
ful contradiction  to  his  apparent  neglect,  and  yet  in  such 
a  way  as  to  effectually  preclude  the  premature  disclosure 
of  his  secret,  was  the  truly  formidable  difficulty  which 
confronted  him.  But,  Sampson-like,  by  the  sheer  power 
of  his  intellectual  might,  he  slew  this  lion  in  his  pathway, 
found  honey  in  its  jaws,  and  put  the  whole  into  a  riddle, 
"which,  as  there  was  really  no  Delilah  in  the  case,  has  for 
ages  greatly  perplexed  both  the  Phillistines  and  the  Lit- 
erati ;  remaining  so  utterly  inexplicable,  that  even  the 
scholarly  Hallam  recorded  his  heartfelt  wish,  that  the  Son- 
nets had  never  been  written. 

But  none  of  us,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  ever  join  in  that 
wish.  For  under  the  shield  of  their  mystic,  veiled,  alle- 
gorical form,  sphinx-like,  as  strangely  puzzling  in  import 
as  is  the  "  Solomon's  Song,"  he  has  opened  to  us  his  heart, 
portrayed  its  turmoil,  and  given  expression  to  his  inmost 
thoughts  and  feelings,  in  a  series  of  exquisite  verses,  which 
the  world  will  yet  cherish  as  one  of  its  most  precious 
possessions. 

Here  ai'e  a  few  examples,  the  pleasure  afforded  by  their 
detailed  solution  being  left  to  the  reader,  who  will  find 
some  that  are  even  more  striking  in  the  complete  series. 
And  as*we  read  them,  we  may  almost  hear  the  beatings 
of  his  throbbing  heart : 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  337 

"  O,  how  thy  worth  with  manners  may  I  sing, 
When  thou  art  all  the  better  part  of  nie  ? 
What  can  mine  own  praise  to  mine  own  self  bring? 
And  what  is  't  but  mine  own,  when  I  praise  thee? 
Even  for  this  let  us  divided  live. 
And  our  dear  love  lose  name  of  single  one, 
That  by  this  separation  I  may  give 
That  due  to  thee,  which  thou  deserv'st  alone. 

0  absence,  what  a  torment  wouldst  thou  prove, 
Were  it  not  thy  sour  leisure  gave  sweet  leave, 
To  entertain  the  time  with  thoughts  of  love, 
(Which  time  and  thoughts  so  sweetly  doth  deceive,) 

And  that  thou  teachest  how  to  make  one  twain. 
By  praising  him  here,  who  doth  hence  remain." 

"  My  tongue-tied  Muse  in  manners  holds  her  still. 
While  comments  of  your  praise,  richly  compiled. 
Reserve  their  character  with  golden  quill. 
And  precious  phrase  by  all  the  Muses  filed. 

1  think  good  thoughts,  while  others  write  good  words. 
And,  like  unlettered  clerk,  still  cry  '  Amen  ' 

To  every  hymn  that  able  spirit  affords. 
In  polished  form  of  well-refined  pen. 
Hearing  you  praised,  I  say  '  'T  is  so,  't  is  true,* 
And  to  the  most  of  praise  add  something  more ; 
But  that  is  in  my  thought,  whose  love  to  you, 
Tiiongh  words  come  hindmost,  holds  his  rank  before. 
Then  others  for  the  breath  of  words  respect. 
Me  for  my  dumb  thoughts,  speaking  in  effect." 

"  As  a  decrepit  father  takes  delight 
To  see  his  active  child  do  deeds  of  youth. 
So  I,  made  lame  by  fortune's  dearest  spite. 
Take  all  my  comfort  of  thy  worth  and  truth; 
For  whether  beauty,  birth,  or  wealth,  or  wit, 
Or  any  of  these  all,  or  all,  or  more, 
Entitled  in  thy  parts  do  crowned  sit, 
I  make  my  love  engrafted  to  this  store  : 
So  then  I  am  not  lame,  poor,  nor  despised, 
Whilst  that  this  sJiadoio  doth  such  substance  give, 
Tliat  I  in  thy  abundance  am  sufficed. 
And  by  a  part  of  all  thy  glory  live. 

Look  what  is  best,  that  best  I  wish  i:i  thee : 
This  wish  I  have ;  then  ten  times  happy  me  !  " 

2% 


338  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  So  are  you  to  my  thoughts,  as  food  to  life, 
Or  as  sweet-season'd  showers  are  to  the  ground ; 
And  for  the  peace  of  you  I  hold  such  strife 
As  'twixt  a  miser  and  his  wealth  is  f ouuil : 
Now  proud  as  an  enjoyer,  and  anon 
Doubting  the  filching  age  will  steal  his  treasure ; 
Now  counting  best  to  be  with  you  alone, 
Then  better'd  that  the  woi'ld  may  see  my  pleasure : 
Sometime  all  full  with  feasting  on  your  sight. 
And  by-and-by  clean  starved  for  a  look ; 
Possessing  or  pursuing  no  delight, 
Save  what  is  had  or  must  from  you  be  took. 

Thus  do  I  pine  and  surfeit  day  by  day, 

Or  gluttoning  on  all,  or  all  away." 

*•  Mine  eye  and  heart  are  at  a  mortal  war, 
How  to  divide  tlie  conquest  of  thy  sight ; 
Mine  eye  mine  heart  thy  picture's  sight  would  bai', 
My  heart  mine  eye  the  freedom  of  that  i-ight. 
My  heart  doth  plead  that  thou  in  him  dost  lie, 
(A  closet  never  pierced  with  crystal  eyes,) 
But  the  defendant  doth  that  plea  deny. 
And  says  in  him  thy  fair  appearance  lies. 
To  'cide  this  title  is  impannelled 
A  quest  of  thoughts,  all  tenants  to  the  heart ; 
And  by  their  verdict  is  determined 
The  clear  eye's  moiety,  and  the  dear  heart's  part: 
As  thus ;  mine  eye's  due  is  thine  outward  part. 
And  my  heart's  right  thine  inward  love  of  heart." 

**  How  careful  was  I,  when  I  took  my  way, 
Each  trifle  under  truest  bars  to  thrust, 
That,  to  my  use,  it  might  unused  stay 
From  hands  of  falsehood,  in  sure  wards  of  trust ! 
But  thou,  to  whom  my  jewels  trifles  are. 
Most  worthy  comfort,  now  my  greatest  grief, 
Thou,  best  of  dearest,  and  mine  only  care, 
Art  left  the  prey  of  every  vulgar  thief. 
Thee  have  I  not  lock'd  up  in  any  chest. 
Save  where  thou  art  not,  though  I  feel  thou  art, 
Within  the  gentle  closure  of  my  breast. 
From  whence  at  pleasure  thou  mayst  come  and  part ; 
And  even  thence  thou  wilt  be  stolen,  I  fear, 
For  truth  proves  thievish  for  a  prize  so  dear." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  339 

**Thy  glass  will  show  thee  how  thy  beauties  weai-, 
Thy  dial  how  thy  precious  minutes  waste ; 
The  vacant  leaves  thy  mind's  imprint  will  bear, 
And  of  this  book  this  learning  mayst  thou  taste. 
The  wrinkles  which  thy  glass  will  truly  show, 
Of  mouthed  graves  will  give  thee  memory ; 
Thou  by  thy  dial's  shady  stealth  mayst  know 
Time's  thievish  progress  to  eternity. 
Look,  what  thy  memory  cannot  contain, 
Commit  to  these  waste  blanks,  and  thou  shalt  find 
Those  children  nursed,  deliver 'd  from  thy  brain, 
To  take  a  new  acquaintance  of  thy  mind. 
These  offices,  so  oft  as  thou  wilt  look, 
Shall  profit  thee,  and  much  enrich  thy  book.'' 

"  How  can  my  Muse  want  subject  to  invent, 

While  thou  dost  breathe,  that  pour'st  into  my  verse 

Thine  own  sweet  argument,  too  excellent 

For  every  vulgar  paper  to  rehearse  ? 

O,  give  myself  the  thanks,  if  aught  in  me 

Worthy  perusal  stand  against  thy  sight ; 

For  who 's  so  dumb  that  cannot  write  to  thee. 

When  thou  thyself  dost  give  invention  light? 

Be  thou  the  tenth  Muse,  ten  times  more  in  worth 

Than  those  old  nine  which  rhymers  invocate ; 

And  he  that  calls  on  thee,  let  him  bring  forth 

Eternal  numbers  to  outlive  long  date. 

If  my  slight  Muse  do  please  these  curious  days, 
The  pain  be  mine,  but  thine  shall  be  the  praise." 

*•  Sin  of  self-love  possesseth  all  mine  eye. 
And  all  my  soul,  and  all  my  every  part; 
And  for  this  sin  there  is  no  remedy. 
It  is  so  grounded  inward  in  my  heart. 
Methinks  no  face  so  gracious  is  as  mine. 
No  shape  so  true,  no  truth  of  such  account ; 
And  for  myself  mine  own  worth  do  define. 
As  I  all  other  in  all  worths  surmount. 
But  when  my  glass  shows  me  myself  indeed, 
Beated  and  chapp'd  with  tann'd  antiquity, 
Mine  own  self-love  quite  contrary  I  read; 
Self  so  self-loving  were  iniquity. 
'Tis  thee  (myself)  that  for  myself  I  praise. 
Painting  my  age  with  beauty  of  thy  days." 


340  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  O,  for  my  sake  do  you  with  fortune  chide, 
The  guilty  goddess  of  my  harmful  deeds, 
That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide, 
Than  public  means,  which  public  manners  breeds. 
Thence  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brana, 
And  almost  thence  my  nature  is  subdu'd 
To  what  it  works  in,  like  the  dyer's  hand ; 
Pity  me  then,  and  wish  I  were  renew'd ; 
Whilst,  like  a  willing  patient,  I  will  drink 
Potions  of  eysell,  'gainst  my  strong  infection ; 
No  bitterness  that  I  will  bitter  think, 
Nor  double  penance,  to  correct  correction. 
Pity  me,  then,  dear  friend,  and  I  assure  ye 
Even  that  your  pity  is  enough  to  cure  me." 

"  When  thou  shalt  be  dispos'd  to  set  me  light, 
And  place  my  merit  in  the  eye  of  scorn, 
Upon  thy  side  against  myself  I  '11  fight, 
And  prove  thee  virtuous,  though  thou  art  foresworn. 
With  mine  own  weakness  being  best  acquainted. 
Upon  thy  part  I  can  set  down  a  story 
Of  faults  conceal'd,  wherein  I  am  attainted  ; 
That  thou,  in  losing  me,  shall  win  much  glory : 
And  I  by  this  will  be  a  gainer  too ; 
For  bending  all  my  loving  thoughts  on  thee, 
The  injuries  that  to  myself  I  do. 
Doing  thee  vantage,  double-vantage  me. 
Such  is  my  love,  to  thee  I  so  belong. 
That  for  thy  right  myself  will  bear  all  wrong." 

"  Farewell !  thou  art  too  dear  for  my  possessing, 
And  like  enough  thou  know'st  thy  estimate : 
The  charter  of  thy  worth  gives  thee  releasing ; 
My  bonds  in  thee  are  all  determinate. 
For  how  do  I  hold  thee  but  by  thy  granting? 
And  for  that  riches  where  is  my  deserving? 
The  cause  of  this  fair  gift  in  me  is  wanting. 
And  so  my  patent  back  again  is  swerving. 
Thyself  thou  gav'st,  thy  own  worth  then  not  knowinj 
Or  me,  to  whom  thou  gav'st  it,  else  mistaking ; 
So  thy  great  gift,  upon  misprision  growing. 
Comes  home  again,  on  better  judgment  making. 
Thus  have  I  had  thee,  as  a  dream  doth  flatter. 
In  sleep  a  king,  but,  waking,  no  such  matter." 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  341 

"  That  God  forbid  that  made  me  first  your  slave, 
I  should  in  thought  control  your  times  of  pleasure, 
Or  at  your  hand  the  account  of  hours  to  crave, 
Being  your  vassal,  bound  to  stay  your  leisure ! 
O,  let  me  suffer  (being  at  your  beck) 
The  imprison'd  absence  of  your  liberty; 
And  patience,  tame  to  sufferance,  bide  each  check, 
Without  accusing  you  of  injury. 
Be  where  you  list ;  your  charter  is  so  strong, 
That  you  yourself  may  privilege  your  time : 
Do  what  you  will,  to  you  it  doth  belong 
Yourself  to  pardon  of  self-doing  crime. 

I  am  to  wait,  though  waiting  so  be  hell ; 

Not  blame  your  pleasure,  be  it  ill  or  well." 

«  O  truant  Muse,  what  shall  be  thy  amends 

For  thy  neglect  of  truth  in  beauty  died? 

Both  truth  and  beauty  on  my  love  depends ; 

So  dost  thou  too,  and  therein  dignified. 

Make  answer,  Muse :  wilt  thou  not  haply  say, 
'  Truth  needs  no  color  with  his  color  fix'd ; 

Beauty  no  pencil,  beauty's  truth  to  lay ; 

But  best  is  best,  if  never  intermix'd? ' 

Because  he  needs  no  praise,  wilt  thou  be  dumb? 

Excuse  not  silence  so ;  for  it  lies  in  thee 

To  make  him  much  outlive  a  gilded  tomb, 

And  to  be  praised  of  ages  yet  to  be. 

Then  do  thy  office,  Muse ;  I  teach  thee  how 

To  make  him  seem  long  hence  as  he  shows  now." 

"  Not  mine  own  fears,  nor  the  prophetic  soul 
Of  the  wide  world  dreaming  on  things  to  come, 
Can  yet  the  lease  of  my  true  love  control, 
Suppos'd  as  forfeit  to  a  confin'd  doom. 
The  mortal  moon  hath  her  eclipse  endur'd, 
And  the  sad  augurs  mock  their  own  presage ; 
Incertainties  now  crown  themselves  assur'd. 
And  peace  proclaims  olives  of  endless  age." 


"  If  Nature,  sovereign  mistress  over  wrack. 
As  thou  goest  onwards,  still  will  pluck  thee  back, 
She  keeps  thee  to  this  purpose,  that  her  skill 
May  time  disgrace,  and  wretched  minutes  kill. 


342  FRANCIS    BACON 

Yet  fear  her,  O  thou  minion  of  her  pleasure ! 
She  may  detain,  but  not  still  keep,  her  treasure. 

Her  audit,  though  delay'd,  answer'd  must  be, 

And  her  quietus  is  to  render  thee.'^ 

"  The  mills  of  the  Gods  grind  slowly."  Three  centu- 
ries have  come  and  gone  since  the  Elizabethan  age.  They 
round  out  a  cycle,  a  unit  in  the  fulness  of  time.  They 
complete  an  epoch,  one  of  the  numbered  periods  in  the 
progress  of  humanity  towards  its  destiny.  The  dawning 
of  the  Twentieth  century  is  to  Bacon  a  resurrection  morn. 
The  long  eclipse  at  last  is  ended,  and  the  full  orb  has 
burst  upon  us,  in  resplendent  glory.  His  title,  supposedly 
forfeit,  is  forever  confirmed,  and  hi,';  spirit  is  unloosed 
from  its  seemingly  confined  doom.  Naiure  indeed  has 
time  disgraced.  But  though  she  long  detained,  still  she 
could  not  keep  her  treasure.  Her  audit  has  been  an- 
swered, her  quietus  given,  and  the  eternal  harmony  is 
restored.  Incertainties  now  have  crowned  themselves  as- 
sured, 

"  And  peace  proclaims  olives  of  endless  age." 

His  was  truly  an  oracle-like,  prophetic  soul.  As  we 
read  his  Sibylline  verses,  obscure,  and  yet  so  clear,  like 
the  enigma  of  nature  lying  all  the  while  an  "  open  secret," 
we  are  astonished  at  his  intellectual  power.  But  greater 
than  this  power  was  his  faith,  his  sublime  faith  in  the 
realities, — in  their  ultimate  triumph.  He  projected  him- 
self into  the  ages,  and  amidst  their  solemnity,  \vq  are  ad- 
mitted within  the  sacred  precincts  of  a  human  heart,  un- 
closed to  our  view.  We  behold,  enshrined  in  the  inherent 
weakness  of  his  nature,  a  Titanic  strength  of  soul,  rising 
even  to  grandeur.  We  begin  to  comprehend  the  man  : 
we  are  at  the  very  core  of  his  personality.  He  was  of 
antithesis  "  all  compact."  It  was  the  origin  of  his  great- 
uesy,  the  oource  of  his  iufirniity,  the  genesis  of  his  univer- 


AND   HIS   SHAKESPEARE.  343 

sality.  His  complex  being  held  within  it,  responsive  to 
the  lightest  touch,  every  chord  possible  to  humanity,  while 
his  very  mould  brought  him  into  intimate  sympathy  with 
nature,  even  in  her  innermost  mystery.  His  plummet 
sounded  the  depths,  and  his  vision  pierced  the  heights. 
In  his  Richard  III.,  he  developed  the  fiend  lurking  in 
man  ;  and  again,  he  gave  emphasis  to  humanity's  subtle 
"  Intimations  of  Immortality."  His  voice,  sounding  from 
the  tomb  and  resounding  through  the  ages,  tells  us,  in 
suggestive  accents,  that  he  still  lives.  His  soul  rose  su- 
perior to  time  and  place.     It  is  at  home  in  eternity. 

The  power  of  realities  was  Bacon's  lifelong  theme.  It 
was  his  inspiration,  his  prophetic  vision,  his  message  to 
man.  He  embodied  it  in  his  Philosophy,  and  he  turned 
the  tide  of  human  affairs.  He  gave  it  representation  in 
the  Shakespeare,  and  he  bestowed  upon  the  world  its  one 
masterpiece  in  Art  and  in  Literature.  And  finally,  he 
afforded  a  vivid  illustration  of  his  theme  in  his  own  per- 
son, in  the  enactment  of  this  soul-stirring,  living  drama, 
whose  theatre  has  been  the  world,  and  whose  hours  were 
the  centuries.  And  the  end  is  not  yet.  The  twain  have 
become  one,  and  thereby  each  has  doubled,  and  the  one 
has  quadrupled  his  power.  We  little  comprehend  the 
tremendous  force  he  is  yet  to  exert  upon  the  race :  but 
the  next  cycle,  like  the  last,  will  fully  evince  his  impress. 
The  realities  are  still  to  be  the  theme,  as  exhaustless  as  is 
the  stream  of  time.  Yea,  when  time  shall  be  no  more,  the 
eternal  realities  will  still  prevail.  Immovable,  relentless, 
inexorable,  they  are  to  be  feared,  and  they  are  to  be  trusted. 
They  are  the  sinews  of  the  Almighty,  holding  the  universe 
and  all  that  it  contains  within  the  grasp  of  his  Infinite 
power.  The  mills  of  the  gods  indeed  grind  slowly,  "  but 
they  grind  exceeding  fine." 


344  FRANCIS   BACON" 

To  return  for  a  moment  to  Taine :  To  fully  appreciate 
his  comprehensive  insight  into  Bacon,  we  must  bear  in 
mind  that  what  he  saw,  in  the  first  instance,  was  through 
the  medium  of  his  prose,  where  his  imagination  was  held 
under  constant  check.  The  fact  of  this  restraint  was  well 
understood.  Taine  adds  to  the  passage  already  quoted 
the  following,  which  completes  all  that  he  says  upon  Ba- 
con's style : 

"  There  is  nothing  more  hazardous,  more  like  fantasy, 
than  this  mode  of  thought,  when  it  is  not  checked  by  nat- 
ural and  strong  good  sense.  This  common  sense,  which 
is  a  kind  of  natural  divination,  the  stable  equilibrium  of 
an  intellect  always  gravitating  to  the  true,  like  the  needle 
to  the  north  pole,  Bacon  possesses  in  the  highest  degree." 

As  is  befitting,  Mr.  White  discerns  also  in  the  Shake- 
speare the  predominant  influence  of  this  pronourfced  per- 
sonal characteristic,  and  in  the  like  peculiar  antithesis. 
He  says : 

"  For  although  of  all  poets  he  is  most  profoundly  psy- 
chological, as  well  as  most  fanciful  and  most  imaginative, 
yet  with  him  philosophy,  fancy,  and  imagination  are  pen- 
etrated with  the  spirit  of  the  unwritten  law  of  reason, 
which  we  speak  of  as  if  it  were  a  faculty,  common  sense. 
His  philosophy  is  practical,  and  his  practical  views  are 
fused  with  philosophy  and  poetry.  He  is  withal  the  sage 
and  the  oracle  of  this  world." 

Verily,  Buffon  was  right,  "  The  style  is  the  man  him- 
self," a  revelation  of  his  personality.  Our  only  wonder 
now  is  at  the  remarkable  insight  displayed  by  these  ac- 
complished critics,  in  their  clear-visioned  discernment  of 
this  personality,  in  its  essential  characteristics. 

No  man,  indeed,  knew  better  than  Bacon  the  restraints 
belonging  to  prose,  and  no  one  better  observed  them.  But 
occasionally,  even  when  dealing  v/ith  subjects  of  the  most 
profound  thought,  he  slightly  relaxed  the  rein  held  so 
constantly  over  his  exuberant  fancy.    Thus,  he  opens  the 


AND   HIS    SHAKESi'EAKE.  345 

Third  Book  of  his  Advancement  of  Learning  iu  these  lux- 
uriant words : 

"All  history,  excellent  king,  treads  the  earth,  perform- 
ing the  office  of  a  guide  rather  than  of  a  light :  and  poetry 
is,  as  it  were,  the  stream  of  knowledge, — a  pleasing  thing 
full  of  variations,  and  affects  to  be  inspired  with  divine 
rapture,  to  which  treasures  also  pretend.  But  now  it  is 
time  I  should  awake  and  raise  myself  from  the  earth  and 
explore  the  liquid  regions  of  philosophy  and  the  sciences. 
Knowledge  is  like  waters  ;  some  descend  from  the  heavens, 
some  spring  from  the  earth." 

Again,  this  gem  slips  through  his  fingers : 

" — imprinted  upon  the  spirit  of  man  by  an  inward  in- 
stinct, according  to  the  law  of  conscience,  which  is  a 
sparkle  of  the  purity  of  his  first  estate." 

And  again,  the  whole  play  of  life  is  given  a  setting,  that 
embraces  the  heavens,  and  in  a  single  sentence : 

"  But  man  must  know  that  in  this  theatre  of  man's  life 
it  is  reserved  only  for  God  and  the  angels  to  be  lookers-on." 

And  with  true  poetic  instinct,  he  pertinently  asks : 

"  Who  taught  the  bee  to  sail  through  such  a  vast  sea 
of  air,  and  to  find  her  way  from  a  field  in  flowers  a  great 
way  off  to  her  hive  ?  " 

Note  the  strange  power  and  the  mingled  tenderness  in 
this,  from  his  Essay,  Of  Adversity : 

"  Prosperity  is  the  blessing  of  the  Old  Testament,  ad- 
versity is  the  blessing  of  the  New,  which  carrieth  the 
greater  benediction,  and  the  clearer  revelation  of  God's 
favor.  Yet  even  in  the  Old  Testament,  if  you  listen  to 
David's  harp,  you  shall  hear  as  many  hearse-like  airs  as 
carols ;  and  the  pencil  of  the  Holy  Ghost  hath  labored 
more  in  describing  the  affliction  of  Job  than  the  felicities 
of  Solomon." 

And  the  sweetness  of  heaven  is  wafted  unto  earth,  as 
by  the  breath  of  inspiration,  in  another  sentence,  where  a 
whole  world  of  thought  is  compressed  into  each  clause : 


346  FKAJsrcis  bacon 

"  Certainly  it  is  heaven  upon  earth  to  have  a  man's  mind 
move  in  charity,  rest  in  providence,  and  turn  upon  the 
poles  of  truth." 

In  his  Preface  to  the  Great  Instauration^  he  says : 
"  Whereas  of  the  sciences  which  regard  nature,  the  di- 
vine philosopher  declares  that  '  it  is  the  glory  of  God  to 
conceal  a  thing,  but  it  is  the  glory  of  the  King  to  find  a 
thing  out.'  Even  as  though  the  divine  nature  took  pleas- 
ure in  the  innocent  and  kindly  sport  of  children  playing 
at  hide  and  seek,  and  vouchsafed,  of  his  kindness  and  good- 
ness, to  admit  the  human  spirit  for  his  playfellow  at  that 
game." 

We  know  not  at  which  we  most  do  marvel ;  at  this  lofty 
sweep  of  the  imagination,  embracing  the  two  poles,  God 
and  man,  and  bridging  the  measureless  chasm  with  an  airy 
structure  of  playful  fancy  ;  or  at  the  audacity  of  the  con- 
ception, though  it  be  only  the  daring  of  the  truth-bearer ; 
or  at  this  overwhelming  expression  of  the  kindly  conde- 
scension of  the  divine  nature,  in  imagery  a  child  could 
understand.  After  this,  though  we  may  wonder  and  ad- 
mire, we  need  not  be  surprised  at  any  feat  of  his  imagin- 
ation.    Macaulay  says  of  Bacon : 

"  He  v/as  at  once  the  Mammon  and  the  Surly  of  his 
friend  Ben.  Sir  Epicure  did  not  indulge  in  visions  more 
magnificent  and  gigantic.  Surly  did  not  sift  evidence 
with  keener  and  more  sagacious  incredulity.  Closely  con- 
nected with  this  peculiarity  of  Bacon's  temper  was  a  strik- 
ing peculiarity  of  his  understanding.  With  great  minute- 
ness of  observation,  he  had  an  amplitude  of  comprehen- 
sion, such  as  has  never  yet  been  vouchsafed  to  any  other 
human  being.  The  small  fine  mind  of  Labruyere  had  not 
a  more  delicate  tact  than  the  large  intellect  of  Bacon.  The 
Essays  contain  abundant  proofs  that  no  nice  feature  of 
character,  no  peculiarity  in  the  ordering  of  a  house,  a  gar- 
den, or  a  court-masque,  could  escape  the  notice  of  one 
whose  mind  was  capable  of  taking  in  the  whole  world  of 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  347, 

knowledge.  His  understanding  resembled  the  tent  which 
the  fairy  Paribanou  gave  to  Prince  Ahmed.  Fold  it ;  and 
it  seemed  a  toy  for  the  hand  of  a  lady.  Spread  it ;  and 
the  armies  of  powerful  Sultans  might  repose  beneath  its 
shade.  In  keenness  of  observation  he  has  been  equalled 
though  perhaps  never  surpassed.  But  the  largeness  of 
his  mind  was  all  his  own.  The  glance  with  which  he  sur- 
veyed the  intellectual  universe  resembled  that  which  the 
Archangel,  from  the  golden  threshold  of  heaven,  darted 
down  into  the  new  creation." 

And  again  :  "  Yet  we  cannot  wish  that  Bacon's  wit  had 
been  less  luxuriant.  For,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure 
it  affords,  it  was  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases  employed 
for  the  purpose  of  making  obscure  truth  plain,  of  making 
repulsive  truth  attractive,  of  fixing  in  the  mind  forever 
truth  which  might  otherwise  have  left  a  transient  impres- 
sion. 

"  The  poetical  faculty  was  powerful  in  Bacon's  mind, 
but  not  like  his  wit,  so  powerful  as  occasionally  to  usurp 
the  place  of  his  reason,  and  to  tyrannize  over  the  whole 
man.  No  imagination  was  ever  at  once  so  strong,  and  so 
thoroughly  subjugated.  It  never  stirred  but  at  a  signal 
from  good  sense.  Yet,  though  disciplined  to  such  obedi- 
ence, it  gave  noble  proofs  of  its  vigor.  In  truth,  much  of 
Bacon's  life  was  passed  in  a  visionary  world,  amidst  things 
as  strange  as  any  that  are  described  in  the  Arabian  Tales, 
or  in  those  romances  on  which  the  curate  and  barber  of 
Don  Quixote's  village  performed  so  cruel  an  auto  dafe, 
amidst  buildings  more  sumptuous  than  the  palace  of  Al- 
addin, fountains  more  wonderful  than  the  golden  water  of 
Parizade,  conveyances  more  rapid  than  the  hippogryph  of 
Ruggiero,  arms  more  formidable  than  the  lance  of  Astolfo, 
remedies  more  efficacious  than  the  balsam  of  Fierabras. 
Yet  in  his  magnificent  day-dreams,  there  was  nothing  wild, 
nothing  but  what  sober  reason  sanctioned.  lie  knew  that 
all  the  secrets  feigned  by  poets  to  have  been  written  in 
tlie  books  of  enchanters  are  worthless,  when  compared  with 
the  mighty  secrets  which  are  really  written  in  the  book  of 


348  FRANCIS    BACON 

nature,  and  which  with  time  and  patience  will  be  read 
there.  He  knew  that  all  the  wonders  wrought  by  all  the 
talismans  in  fable  were  trifles,  when  compared  to  the  won- 
ders which  might  reasonably  be  expected  from  the  philos- 
ophy of  fruit,  and  that,  if  his  words  sank  deep  into  the 
minds  of  men,  they  would  produce  effects  such  as  super- 
stition had  never  ascribed  to  the  incantations  of  Merlin 
and  Michael  Scot." 

These  are  truly  colossal  proportions.  They  are  orb- 
like :  they  have  the  girth  of  the  equator,  and  the  antith- 
esis of  the  poles.  And  this  luminary  is  shown  to  have 
been  fairly  dazzling  in  its  splendor  ;  but  shining  upon 
mankind  in  beneficent  ministry,  affording  delight,  and 
illuminating  the  pathway. 

Nor  is  the  picture  overdrawn  ;  for  Schlegel,  the  eminent 
German  critic,  gives  us,  in  a  few  words,  the  like  commen- 
surate view  of  this  wonderful  Personality,  unique  in  all 
the  ages  of  the  world,  and  as  he  saw  him  through  the  me- 
dium of  the  Shakespeare.     He  says  : 

"  He  unites  in  his  soul  the  utmost  elevation  and  the 
utmost  depth  ;  and  the  most  opposite  and  even  apparently 
irreconcilable  properties  subsist  in  him  peaceably  together. 
The  world  of  spirits  and  nature  have  laid  all  their  treas- 
ures at  his  feet :  in  strength  a  demi-god,  in  profundity  of 
view  a  prophet,  in  all-seeing  wisdom  a  guardian  spirit  of 
a  higher  order,  he  lowers  himself  to  mortals  as  if  uncon- 
scious of  his  superiority,  and  is  as  open  and  unassuming 
as  a  child." 

And  the  immortal  Goethe !  His  voice  too  blends  in 
this  wondrous,  majestic  harmony,  the  united  p:Ban  of  all 
nations,  and  tongues,  and  succeeding  generations ;  and 
Orpheus-like,  he  enriches  it  with  the  concordant  strains 
of  a  sweeter  melody.  Though  he  was  looking  from  afar, 
through  a  veil,  the  insight  of  the  heart,  with  which  he 
was  80  richly  endowed,  awakened  in  him  an  instant  rec- 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  349 

ognition  of  the  spirit  animating  this  Master  Teachei",  and 
he  caught  thence  an  inspiration  towards  a  like  service. 
In  his  Conversations  with  Echermann^  he  says : 
"  But  we  cannot  talk  about  Shakespeare ;  everything 
is  inadequate.  I  have  touched  upon  the  subject  in  '  Wil- 
hehn  Meister^  but  that  is  not  saying  much.  He  is  not  a 
theatrical  poet;  he  never  thought  of  the  stage  ;  it  was  too 
narrow  for  his  great  mind :  nay  the  whole  visible  world 
was  too  narrow.  He  is  even  too  rich  and  powerful.  .  .  . 
This,  however,  is  by  no  means  to  be  regretted,  for  what 
Shakespeare  has  lost  as  a  theatrical  poet,  he  has  gained  as 
a  poet  in  general.  Shakespeare  is  a  great  psychologist, 
and  we  learn  from  his  pieces  the  secrets  of  human  nature." 

Turning  to  the  Wilhelm  Meister,  we  find  there  these 
impassioned  words ;  descriptive  of  the  profound  impres- 
sion made  upon  him  in  his  first  reading  of  the  Shakespeare  : 

"  Wilhelm  had  scarcely  read  one  or  two  of  Shakespeare's 
plays,  till  their  effect  on  him  became  so  strong  that  he 
could  go  no  further.  His  whole  soul  was  in  commotion. 
He  sought  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  Jarno ;  to  whom,  on 
meeting  with  him,  he  expressed  his  boundless  gratitude  for 
such  delicious  entertainment.  '  I  clearly  enough  foresaw,' 
said  Jarno,  '  that  you  would  not  remain  insensible  to  the 
charms  of  the  most  extraordinary  and  most  admirable  of 
all  writers.'  '  Yes ! '  exclaimed  our  friend,  '  I  cannot 
recollect  that  any  book,  any  man,  any  incident  of  my  life, 
has  produced  such  important  effects  upon  me,  as  the  pre- 
cious works,  to  which  by  your  kindness  I  have  been  di- 
rected. They  seem  as  if  they  were  performances  of  some 
celestial  genius,  descending  among  men,  to  make  them,  by 
the  mildest  instructions,  acquainted  with  themselves.  They 
are  no  fictions !  You  would  think,  while  reading  them, 
you  stood  before  the  unclosed  awful  books  of  fate,  while 
the  whirlwind  of  most  impassioned  life  was  howling  through 
the  leaves,  and  tossing  them  fiercely  to  and  fro.  The 
strength  and  tenderness,  the  power  and  peacefulness  of 


350  FRANCIS    BACON 

this  man  have  so  astonished  and  transported  me,  that  I 
long  vehemently  for  the  time  when  I  shall  have  it  in  my 
power  to  read  further.' 

"  '  Bravo !  '  said  Jarno,  holding  out  his  hand  and  squeez- 
ing our  friend's  :  '  this  is  as  it  should  be  !  And  the  con- 
sequences, which  I  hope  for,  will  likewise  surely  follow.' 

" '  I  wish,'  said  Wilhelm, '  I  could  disclose  to  you  all  that 
is  going  on  within  me  even  now.  All  the  anticipations  I 
have  ever  had  regarding  man  and  his  destiny,  which  have 
accompanied  me  from  youth  upwards,  often  unobserved  by 
myself,  I  find  developed  and  fulfilled  in  Shakespeare's  writ- 
ings. It  seems  as  if  he  cleared  up  every  one  of  our  enigmas 
to  us,  though  we  cannot  say :  Here  or  there  is  the  word  of  so- 
lution. His  men  appear  like  natural  men,  and  yet  they  are 
not.  These,  the  most  mysterious  and  complex  productions 
of  creation,  here  act  before  us  as  if  they  were  watches, 
whose  dial-plates  and  cases  were  of  crystal  :  which  pointed 
out,  according  to  their  use,  the  course  of  the  hours  and 
minutes ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  you  could  discern  the 
combination  of  wheels  and  springs  that  turned  them.  The 
few  glances  I  have  cast  over  Shakespeare's  world  incite 
me,  more  than  anything  beside,  to  quicken  my  footsteps 
forward  into  the  actual  world,  to  mingle  in  the  flood  of 

T  •         •  • 

destmies  that  is  suspended  over  it:  and  at  length,  if  I 
shall  prosper,  to  draw  a  few  cups  from  the  great  ocean  of 
true  nature,  and  to  distribute  them  from  off  the  stage 
among  the  thirsting  people  of  my  native  land.'  " 

It  is  sweet,  indeed,  thus  to  visit  the  company  of  the  Im- 
mortals, to  listen  to  their  words,  to  hiow  them,  as  they 
are  self-revealed  to  our  comprehension  ;  to  realize  in  some 
measure  their  greatness,  and  to  be  swayed  by  their  death- 
less spirits.  And  we  may  safely  render  to  the  summit 
glories  of  frail  humanity  our  full  tribute  of  appreciation ; 
for  there,  ever  before  us,  towering  far  above  them,  up 
into  and  through  the  illimitable  heavens,  and  overshadow- 
ing the  universe,  is  the  Supreme  Love,  manifested  in  the 
Son  of  Man,  in  untarnished  glory. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  351 

But  the  great  men  of  the  world,  they  who  have  beuer- 
icently  ministered  to  the  welfare  of  the  race,  advanced 
its  enlightenment,  and  contributed  to  its  enrichment,  in  a 
marked  degree,  are  really  gifts  to  humanity,  a  part  of  its 
priceless  heritage.  Among  these  men,  Bacon  stands  fore- 
most. And  though  the  language  employed  in  his  delinea- 
tion may  perhaps  seeai  extravagant  to  those  who  have  not 
closely  studied  the  man,  yet  it  was  apparently  well  con- 
sidered, called  forth  by  the  necessities  of  the  case,  and 
from  men  who  obviously  felt  that  words  were  scarcely  ade- 
quate to  the  portrayal  of  the  man  in  the  magnitude  of  his 
greatness.  It  comes  as  the  almost  involuntary  tribute  of 
the  Intellect,  the  Critical  Acumen,  and  the  Genius  of  the 
world  to  their  recognized  Master. 

United  as  in  one  voice,  in  ever  blending  harmony,  it 
reveals  to  us  the  man  in  his  true  function,  as  the  world's 
Great  Teacher.  This  seemingly  celestial  genius,  whose 
Sflance  through  the  intellectual  universe  resembled  that  of 
the  Archangel  from  the  golden  threshold  of  heaven,  or  of 
a  guardian  spirit  of  a  higher  order  ;  endowed  with  an  am- 
plitude of  comprehension  such  as  has  never  yet  been  vouch- 
safed to  any  other  human  being  ;  capable  of  taking  in  the 
whole  world  of  knowledge,  and  for  whose  great  mind  the 
theatrical  stage  was  too  narrow,  nay  the  whole  visible 
world  too  narrow  ;  much  of  whose  life  was  passed  in  a  vis- 
ionary realm,  amidst  things  as  strange  as  any  described 
in  the  Arabian  Tales,  and  yet  with  nothing  in  these  day- 
dreams that  was  wild,  nothing  but  what  sober  reason 
sanctioned ;  indulging  in  visions  more  magnificent  and 
gigantic  than  those  of  Sir  Epicure,  and  yet  sifting  evi- 
dence with  keen  and  sagacious  incredulity ;  gifted  with  a 
largeness  of  mind  all  his  own,  and  yet  with  a  keenness 
of  observation  equalled  though  perhaps  never  surpassed, 
and  such  that  no  nice  feature  of  character,  no  peculiarity 
in  the  ordering  of  a  house,  a  garden,  or  a  court-masque 


352  FRANCIS    BACON 

could  escape ;  the  most  opposite  and  apparently  irrecon- 
cilable qualities  subsisting  in  him  peaceably  together ; 
uniting  the  utmost  elevation  and  the  utmost  depth,  strength, 
and  tenderness,  power  and  peacefulness ;  a  psychologist 
and  a  philosopher,  but  philosophy,  fancy,  and  imagination 
penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  the  unwritten  law  of  reason, 
his  philosophy  being  practical  and  his  practical  views 
fused  with  philosophy  and  poetry ;  with  the  poetical  fac- 
ulty powerful,  giving  noble  proofs  of  its  vigor,  but  disci- 
plined to  obedience  to  his  good  sense ;  no  imagination 
being  ever  at  once  so  strong  and  so  thoroughly  subjugated; 
with  nothing  in  English  prose  superior  to  his  diction,  the 
most  extraordinary  and  most  admirable  of  all  writers  ;  in 
strength  called  a  demi-god,  and  in  profundity  of  view  a 
prophet,  he  spake  after  the  manner  of  prophets,  almost  in 
Sibylline  verses,  like  an  oracle  who  foresees  the  future 
and  reveals  the  truth,  and  at  times  you  would  think  you 
stood  before  the  unclosed  awful  books  of  fate,  while  the 
whirlwind  of  most  impassioned  life  was  howling  through 
the  leaves,  and  tossing  them  fiercely  to  and  fro ;  but  all 
the  while,  as  open  and  unassuming  as  a  child,  he  was  em- 
ploying his  luxuriant  wit,  and  the  pleasure  it  affords,  in 
developing  and  fulfilling  our  anticipations  regarding  man 
and  his  destiny,  in  clearing  up  the  enigmas  of  life,  in 
making  obscure  truths  plain,  repulsive  ones  attractive,  fix- 
ing in  the  mind  forever  those  otherwise  leaving  but  tran- 
sient impressions,  and  in  making  men  by  the  mildest  in- 
structions acquainted  with  themselves ;  well  knowing,  that 
when  his  words  should  sink  deep  into  the  minds  of  men, 
they  would  produce,  in  their  consequences,  effects  far  sur- 
passing any  that  are  ascribed  to  the  incantations  of  the 
old-time  magicians. 

Behold  the  man !  And  in  the  man,  also,  the  key  to  the 
Shakespeare ;  to  its  beneficient  intent,  fulfilled  in  such 
glorious  accomplishment !     It  is  the  befitting  accompan- 


AKD   UIS    SHAKESPEARE.  353 

iment,  if,  indeed,  it  be  not  essentially  an  integral  part  of 
his  Great  Instauration ;  entering  into  his  grand,  com- 
prehensive scheme,  but  reserved  to  himself  for  exhaustive 
development,  upon  the  fundamental  lines  of  the  realities. 
Man  is  the  subject ;  man  as  he  is  actually  found  in  nature, 
good  and  bad ;  in  his  weaknesses,  his  excesses,  his  pas- 
sions, and  his  crimes ;  in  his  rugged  strength,  in  woman's 
gentle  tenderness,  her  charming  beauty,  her  constancy, 
and  her  devotion  ;  in  his  friendship,  his  magnanimity,  his 
loyalty,  and  his  love  ;  in  all  his  incongruities  and  inconsis- 
tencies ;  in  every  phase  of  human  existence,  in  almost 
every  modification,  and  as  developed  amidst  the  complex- 
ities of  life's  experiences.  It  is  a  transcript  of  humanity, 
accurate,  comprehensive,  and  well-nigh  exhaustive,  a  vivid 
representation  to  the  life  of  the  universal  man,  in  his 
essential  characteristics,  in  his  myriad  forms,  aspects,  and 
experiences  ;  thus  both  infolding  and  unfolding  "  the  se- 
crets of  human  nature."  This  great  philosopher,  playing 
upon  our  hearts  as  with  a  musician's  baw,  has  made  it "  a 
means  of  educating  men's  minds  to  virtue  ";  and  this  is 
accomplished  so  sweetly,  and  in  such  perfection,  and  such 
beauty,  that  it  has  all  the  charm  of  enchantment.  His 
magic  is  the  only  real  magic  in  the  world,  —  the  subtle 
power  of  realities,  in  the  intensity  of  their  beauty,  and  the 
might  of  their  verity. 

*'  Truth  needs  no  color  with  his  color  fix'd ; 
Beauty  no  pencil,  beauty's  truth  to  lay." 

And  now,  as  we  read  the  Shakespeare,  we  may  rise 
fully  to  Goethe's  plane  of  appreciation  :  we,  also,  may  dis- 
cern its  mighty  import,  and  catch  the  inspiration  of  its 
beneficent  spirit.  We  may  know,  to  a  certainty,  that  it 
was  bestowed  upon  us  for  our  delight,  and  for  our  instruc- 
tion as  well.  It  is,  indeed,  delicious  nutriment,  luscious 
fruit  imbedded  in  fragrant  flowers,  a  banquet  of  delecta- 
ble food  provided  for  our  entertainment,  "  a  rich  store- 


354  i'KANCIS    BACON 

house,"  full  of  choicest  grain,  where  every  kernel  contains 
its  living  germ  of  wisdom. 

And  in  our  delight  over  its  marvellous  beauty,  we  may 
know  that  we  are  only  catching  some  gleams  of  Bacon's 
joy,  as  he  threw  off  the  accustomed  restraints,  assumed 
the  magic  mantle  and  the  enchanter's  wand,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  a  legitimate  revel  of  his  imagination.  But 
we  cannot  know  the  rapture  that  filled  his  soul,  ravishing 
the  mental  tendrils  of  all  his  senses  and  entrancing  his 
whole  being,  in  the  convulsive  throes  of  the  creative  act. 
It  was  the  divine  rapture,  experienced  in  the  impartation 
of  himself. 

In  the  hour  of  exaltation,  when  he  was  all  aglow  with 
the  flame  enkindled  by  a  burning  impulse,  he  gave  en- 
shrinement  to  his  clearest  visions,  in  creations  that  were 
after  the  likeness  of  human  souls.  They  were  clothed  in 
imagery  fashioned  out  of  vivid  impressions  stamped  upon 
his  brain :  his  spirit  endowed  them  with  vitality,  and  his 
wisdom  with  its  subtle  power.  And  over  them  all  he 
threw  a  glittering  canopy  of  wondrous  beauty,  woven  out 
of  beams  and  gleaming  rays  that  he  had  drawn  from  the 
drapery  of  the  universe. 

The  travails  of  their  birth  were,  indeed,  thrills  of  ex- 
quisite delight,  and  their  life  is  everlasting,  because  they 
were  the  joyous  outflowings  of  his  immortal  soul. 


AND    1118    SHAKESPEARE.  355 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Let  us,  for  our  further  satisfaction,  delve  once  more,  even 
into  the  subsoil  of  the  world's  criticism. 

Mr.  Hamilton  W.  Mabie,  the  distinguished  critic,  in 
his  Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation  (a  little  book  full 
of  meat,  feeding  whereon  a  man  grows},  in  a  luminous 
generalization,  places  at  our  command  another  crucial  test 
of  the  personality  of  the  Poet.     He  says  : 

"  Every  dramatist  of  the  first  order  has  had  a  funda- 
mental thought  about  life  which,  expressed  in  his  own  way, 
has  been  in  some  essential  things  different  from  the  thought 
of  all  his  fellows  ;  and  that  thought  has  contained  the  very 
essence  of  his  personality.  The  great  writers  speak  not 
from  report,  but  from  personal  knowledge.  They  differ 
from  the  lesser  writers,  not  only  in  quality  of  workman- 
ship, but  still  more  in  the  fact  that  they  are  witnesses  of 
the  truth  which  they  express.  They  have  seen  and  felt, 
therefore  they  speak.  And  that  which  thus  sees  and  feels 
and  knows  is  the  man's  whole  nature,  not  observation  only, 
nor  thought  only,  nor  feeling  only.  All  the  faculties,  the 
aptitudes,  the  sensibilities,  the  experiences  which  make  us 
what  we  are,  are  involved  in  this  process.  So  that  which 
lies  deepest  in  a  man,  his  thought  of  the  movement  of 
things  in  which  he  finds  himself,  expresses  completely  and 
most  profoundly  his  personality." 

We  have  already  been  unconsciously  applying  this  test, 
in  our  discussion  of  the  play  of  Jidius  Ccesar^  which  indeed 
strikingly  illustrates  the  truth  of  the  proposition, —  for 
else  were  it  meaningless.*     But  to  further  prolong  this 

*  For  a  more  specific  example,  see  the  peculiar  view  enter- 


356  FRANCIS    BACON 

exposition,  showing  in  detail  the  continual  unfoldirg 
within  the  plays,  in  the  like  perfect  harmony,  of  Bacon's 
"  fundamental  thought  about  life  "  and  of  "  the  movement 
of  things  in  which  he  finds  himself,"  would  far  exceed  our 
limits.  Nor  is  it  here  necessary.  For  yet  another  sur- 
prise awaits  us.  Strange  to  say,  the  work,  in  its  essen- 
tials, has  already  been  performed,  years  ago,  and  by  a 
critic  of  unquestioned  ability,  who  has  condensed  what 
might  fill  a  volume  into  a  compact  summary  which  covers 
the  ground. 

For  this,  as  is  fitting,  we  are  indebted  to  Germany,  the 
land  of  diligent,  profound,  and  accurate  scholarship.  Ger- 
vinus,  to  whom  we  refer,  stands  perhaps  foremost  among 
the  Shakespearean  critics  of  the  world.  Dr.  Furnivall, 
the  eminent  English  Shakespearean  scholar,  in  his  Intro- 
duction to  the  English  translation  of  his  Shakespeare 
Commentaries^  says  of  him : 

"  What  strikes  me  most  in  Gervinus  is  his  breadth  of 
culture,  his  rightness  and  calmness  of  judgment,  his  fair- 
ness in  looking  at  both  sides  of  a  question,  his  noble  earn- 
est purpose,  his  resolve  to  get  at  the  deepest  meaning  of 
his  author,  and  his  reverence  and  love  for  Shakespeare. 
No  one  can  read  his  book  without  seeing  evidence  of  a 
range  of  reading  rare  indeed  among  Englishmen." 

"  In  his  last  section, '  Shakespeare,'  Gervinus  sets  before 
U8  his  view  of  the  poet  and  his  works  as  a  whole,  and 
rightly  claims  for  him  the  highest  honor  as  the  greatest 
dramatic  artist,  the  rarest  judge  of  men  and  human  affairs, 
the  noblest  moral  teacher^  that  Literature  has  yet  known." 

And  again :  "  The  profound  and  generous  Commen- 
taries of  Gervinus — an  honor  to  a  German  to  have  written, 
a  pleasure  to  an  Englishman  to  read — is  still  the  only  book 
known  to  me  that  comes  near  the  true  treatment  and  the 

tained  of  Hope,  the  direct  outgrowth  also  of  "  a  fundamental 
thought  about  life."     (See  ante,  page  142,  note.) 


AND    niS    SHAKESPEARE.  ;i57 

dignity  of  it;?  subject,  or  can  be  put  into  the  liands  of  the 
student  wlio  wants  to  know  the  mind  of  Shakespeare." 

Fortunately,  Gervinus  was  an  equally  profound  student 
of  Bacon  in  his  j)rose  writings  ;  citing  them  repeatedly 
throughout  his  Conw^entaries,  in  elucidation  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  plays.  And  in  his  last  section,  above  referred 
to,  he  institutes,  in  a  careful  summary,  a  direct  compari- 
son between  Bacon,  in  jn'opria  i^cTsona^  and  him  who  was 
known  to  him  only  as  "  Shakespeare," — in  their  course  of 
thought,  their  attitude  towards  life,  and  their  views  of  its 
movements,  as  they  are  revealed  in  their  works. 

This  exposition  is  the  more  significant,  since  it  was 
written  at  the  close  of  the  last  half  century,  and  by  an 
earnest,  devoted  critic,  who  felt  impelled  to  note  the  like- 
ness, but  who  was  utterly  unconscious  that  he  was  all  the 
while  dealing  with  the  same  personality.  But  such  was 
the  depth  of  his  insight,  his  intellectual  grasp,  and  his 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  subject,  that,  unlike  Plutarch, 
with  his  parallels  of  different  men,  there  is  here  unfolded 
no  shading  of  contrast,  indicating  a  difference  in  individ- 
uality. 

The  importance  of  the  subject,  and  its  able  treatment, 
fully  warrant  an  extended  quotation  ;  and  especially  as,  at 
the  end,  it  leaves  no  occasion  for  detailed  comment.  He 
says : 

"  For  just  as  Shakespeare  was  an  interpreter  of  the 
secrets  of  history  and  of  human  nature.  Bacon  was  an  in- 
terpreter of  lifeless  nature.  Just  as  Shakespeare  went 
from  instance  to  instance  in  his  judgment  of  moral  ac- 
tions, and  never  founded  a  law  on  a  single  experience,  so 
did  Bacon  in  natural  science  avoid  leaping  from  one  ex- 
perience of  the  senses  to  general  principles  ;  he  spoke  of 
this  with  blame  as  anticipating  nature  ;  and  Shakespeare, 
in  the  same  way,  would  have  called  the  conventionalities 
in  the  poetry  of  the  Southern  races  an  anticipation  of  hu- 
man nature.    In  the  scholastic  science  of  the  middle  ages, 


358  FRANCIS    BACON 

as  in  the  chivalric  poetry  of  the  romantic  period,  appro- 
bation and  not  truth  was  sought  for  ;  and  with  one  aceord 
Shakespeare's  poetry  and  Bacon's  science  were  equally 
opposed  to  this.  As  Shakespeare  balanced  the  one-sided 
errors  of  the  imagination  by  reason,  reality,  and  nature, 
so  Bacon  led  philosophy  away  from  the  one-sided  errors 
of  reason  to  experience  ;  both,  with  one  stroke,  renovated 
the  two  branches  of  science  and  poetry  by  this  renewed 
bond  with  nature  ;  both,  disregarding  all  by-ways,  staked 
everything  upon  this  '  victory  in  the  race  between  art  and 
nature.' 

"Just  as  Bacon  with  his  new  philosophy  is  linked  with 
the  natural  science  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  then  with 
the  latter  period  of  philosophy  in  western  Europe,  so 
Shakespeare's  drama  stands  in  relation  to  the  comedies  of 
Plautus  and  to  the  stage  of  his  own  day  ;  between  the  two 
there  lay  a  vast  v/ilderness  of  time,  as  unfruitful  for  the 
drama  as  for  philosophy.  But  while  they  thus  led  back 
to  nature,  Bacon  was  yet  as  little  of  an  empiric,  in  the 
common  sense,  as  Shakespeare  was  a  poet  of  nature. 
Bacon  prophesied  that  if  hereafter  his  commendation  of 
experience  should  prevail,  great  danger  to  science  would 
arise  from  the  other  extreme,  and  Shakespeare  even  in  his 
own  day  could  perceive  the  same  with  respect  to  his  poe- 
try ;  Bacon,  therefore,  insisted  on  the  closest  union  be- 
tween experience  and  reason,  just  as  Shakespeare  effected 
that  between  reality  and  imagination.  While  they  thus 
bid  adieu  to  the  formalities  of  ancient  art  and  science, 
Shakespeare  to  conceits  and  taffeta-phrases.  Bacon  to  logic 
and  syllogisms,  yet  at  times  it  occurred  that  the  one  fell 
back  into  the  subtleties  of  the  old  school,  and  the  other 
into  the  constrained  wit  of  the  Italian  style. 

"  Bacon  felt  himself  quite  an  original  in  that  which  was 
his  peculiar  merit,  and  so  was  Shakespeare :  the  one  in 
the  method  of  science  he  had  laid  down,  and  in  his  sug- 
gestions for  its  execution,  the  other  in  the  poetical  works 
he  had  executed,  and  in  the  suggestions  of  their  new  law. 
Bacon,  looking  back  to  the  way  marks  he  had   left  for 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  359 

others,  said  with  pride,  that  his  words  required  a  century 
for  their  demonstration  and  several  for  the  execution  ; 
and  so  too  it  has  demanded  two  centuries  to  understand 
Shakespeare ;  but  very  little  has  been  executed  in  his 
sense.  And  at  the  same  time,  we  have  mentioned  what 
deep  modesty  was  interwoven  in  both  with  their  self-reli- 
ance, so  that  the  words  which  Bacon  liked  to  quote  hold 
good  for  the  two  works  : — '  The  kingdom  of  God  cometh 
not  with  observation.' 

"  Both  reached  this  height  from  the  one  starting  point, 
that  Shakespeare  despised  the  million,  and  Bacon  feared 
with  Phocion  the  applause  of  the  multitude.  Both  are 
alike  in  the  rare  impartiality  with  which  they  avoided 
everything  one-sided ;  in  Bacon  we  find,  indeed,  youthful 
exercises  in  which  he  endeavored  in  severe  contrasts  to 
contemplate  a  series  of  things  from  two  points  of  view. 
Both,  therefore,  have  an  equal  hatred  of  sects  and  par- 
ties ;  Bacon  of  sophists  and  dogmatic  philosophers,  Shake- 
speare of  Puritans  and  zealots.  Both,  therefore,  are 
equally  free  from  prejudices,  and  from  astrological  super- 
stition in  dreams  and  omens.  Bacon  says  of  the  alchem- 
ists and  magicians  in  natural  science,  that  they  stand  in 
similar  relation  to  true  knowledge  as  the  deeds  of  Amadis 
to  those  of  Cassar,  and  so  does  Shakespeare's  true  poetry 
stand  in  relation  to  the  fantastic  romance  of  Amadis. 

"Just  as  Bacon  banished  religion  from  science,  so  did 
Shakespeare  from  art ;  and  when  the  former  complained 
that  the  teachers  of  religion  were  against  natural  philoso- 
phy, they  were  equally  against  the  stage.  From  Bacon's 
example,  it  seems  clear  that  Shakespeare  left  religious 
matters  unnoticed  on  the  same  grounds  as  himself,  and 
took  the  path  of  morality  in  worldly  things ;  in  both  this 
has  been  equally  misconstrued,  and  Le  Maistre  has  proved 
Bacon's  lack  of  Christianity,  as  Birch  has  done  that  of 
Shakespeare. 

"  Shakespeare  would,  perhaps,  have  looked  down  just 
as  contemptuously  on  the  ancients  and  their  arts  as  did 
Bacon  on  their  philosophy  and  natural  science,  and  both 


;3G0  FKANCIS    BACON 

on  the  same  grounds ;  they  boasted  of  the  greater  age  of 
the  world,  of  more  enlarged  knowledge  of  heaven,  earth, 
and  mankind.  Neither  stooped  before  authorities,  and  an 
injustice  similar  to  that  which  Bacon  committed  against 
Aristotle,  Shakespeare  iterliajiB  has  done  to  Homer.* 

"  In  both,  a  similar  combination  of  different  mental  pow- 
ers was  at  work  ;  and  as  Shakespeare  was  often  involunta- 
rily philosophical  in  his  profoundness,  Bacon  was  not  sel- 
dom surprised  into  the  imagination  of  the  poet.  Just  as 
Bacon,  although  he  declared  knowledge  in  itself  to  be  much 
more  valuable  than  the  use  of  invention,  insisted  through- 
out generally  and  dispassionately  upon  the  practical  use  of 
philosophy,  so  Shakespeare's  poetry,  independent  as  was 
his  sense  of  art,  aimed  throughout  at  bearing  upon  the 
moral  life.  Bacon  himself  was  of  the  same  opinion  ;  he 
was  not  far  from  declaring  history  to  be  the  best  teacher 
of  politics,  and  poetry  the  best  instructor  in  morals. 

"  Both  were  alike  deeply  moved  by  the  picture  of  a  rul- 
ing Nemesis,  whom  they  saw,  grand  and  powerful,  strid- 
ing through  history  and  life,  dragging  the  mightiest  and 
the  most  prosperous  as  a  sacrifice  to  her  altar,  as  the  vic- 
tims of  their  own  inward  nature  and  destiny.  In  Bacon's 
works  we  find  a  multitude  of  moral  sayings  and  maxims 
of  experience,  from  which  the  most  striking  mottoes  might 
be  drawn  for  every  Shakespearean  play,  aye,  for  every 
one  of  his  principal  characters  (we  have  already  brought 
forward  not  a  few  proofs  of  this),  testifying  to  a  remark- 
able harmony  in  their  mutual  comprehension  of  human 
nature. 

"  Both,  in  their  systems  of  morality  rendering  homage  to 

*  We  note  the  following,  from  Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learn- 
ing, Second  Book :  "  Surely  of  those  poets  which  are  now  ex- 
tant, even  Homer  himself  (notwithstanding  he  was  made  a  kind 
of  Scripture  by  the  later  schools  of  the  Grecians),  yet  I  should 
without  any  difficulty  pronounce  that  his  fables  had  no  such  in- 
wardness in  his  own  meaning  ;  but  what  they  raight  have  upon 
a  more  original  tradition,  is  not  easy  to  affirm ;  for  he  was  not 
the  inventor  of  many  of  them." 


AND    niS    SHAKESPEARE.  361 

Aristotle,  whose  ethics  Shakespeare,  from  a  passage  in 
Tro'ilus,*  may  have  read,  arrived  at  the  same  end  as  he 
did  —  that  virtue  lies  in  a  just  medium  between  two  ex- 
tremes. Shakespeare  would  have  also  agreed  with  him 
in  this,  that  Bacon  declared  excess  to  be  '  the  fault  of 
youth,  as  defect  is  of  age  ';  he  accounted  '  defect  the  worst, 
because  excess  contains  some  sparks  of  magnanimity,  and, 
like  a  bird,  claims  kindred  of  the  heavens,  while  defect, 
only  like  a  base  worm,  crawls  upon  the  earth.'  In  these 
maxims  lie  at  once,  as  it  were,  the  ivhole  theory  of  Shake- 
speare's dramatic  forms  and  of  his  moral  i^hilosophy.''^ 

*  The  passage  referred  to  is  especially  interesting,  not  only  in 
its  disclosure  of  the  same  views  regarding  the  liability  of  youth 
to  the  disturbance  of  their  judgment  through  the  very  warmth 
of  their  nature,  but  also,  as  showing  the  committing  of  the  same 
negligent  mistake  regarding  the  tenor  of  Aristotle's  doctrine  : 
"  Paris,  and  Troilus,  you  have  both  said  well ; 
And  on  the  cause  and  question  now  in  hand^ 
Have  glozed,^ —  but  superficially  ;  not  much 
Unlike  young  men,  whom  Aristotle  thought 
Unfit  to  hear  moral  philosophy : 
The  reasons  you  allege  do  more  conduce 
To  the  hot  passion  of  distemper  d  blood, 
Than  to  make  up  a  free  determination 
'Twixt  right  and  wrong ;  for  pleasure  and  revenge 
Have  ears  more  deaf  than  adders  to  the  voice 
Of  any  true  decision."  ^ 

— Troilus  and  Cress.,  II.,  2. 

In  his  De  Augmentis,  Seventh  Book,  Bacon  says :  "  Is  not 
the  opinion  of  Aristotle  very  wise  and  worthy  to  be  regarded, 
'that  young  men  are  no  fit  auditors  of  moral  philosophy,'  be- 
cause the  hoilbuj  heat  of  their  affections  is  not  yet  settled,  nor 
tempered  with  time  and  experience?" 

In  a  note  to  this  passage,  Spedding  says :  "  Arist.  Eth.  ad 
Nicom,,  i.  3.  Aristotle,  however,  speaks  not  of  moral  but  oi  polit- 
ical philosophy." 

So  that  their  identity  is  manifested  even  in  their  errors. 

[1]  See  anle,  page  70.  [2]  See  ante,  page  45.  [3]  See  ante,  page  61. 
See,  also,  page  135,  note. 


362  FRANCIS    BACON 

This  concludes  Gervinns'  really  wonderful  summary  ; 
which,  over  and  beyond  its  clear  delineation  of  these  un- 
mistakable manifestations  of  a  single,  unique  mentality,  in 
its  distinctive  characteristics  and  its  homogeneous  phases, 
has,  somehow,  brought  us  into  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  man  himself,  personally,  and  into  almost  conscious 
contact  with  his  living,  vitalizing  spirit ;  which  animated 
his  whole  work,  in  its  perfectly  consistent  development, 
its  comprehensive  harmony,  and  its  underlying  unity,  and 
which  was  "  the  very  essence  of  his  personality." 

Returning  again  for  a  moment  to  Taine  :  It  may  not  be 
amiss,  in  this  connection,  to  note  a  now  manifest  error  into 
which  this  distinguished  critic  fell  in  his  discussion  of  the 
Shakespeare,  and,  if  possible,  to  explain  its  occurrence. 
He  finds,  indeed,  in  the  plays,  and  especially  in  the  Son- 
nets^ the  organic  manifestation  and  expression  of  the 
Poet's  personal  immorality.     He  says  : 

"  He  had  many  loves  of  this  kind,  amongst  others  one 
for  a  sort  of  Marion  Delorme  [a  famed  French  courtesan], 
a  miserable,  deluding,  despotic  passion,  of  which  he  felt 
the  burden  and  the  shame,  but  from  which,  nevertheless, 
he  could  not  and  would  not  free  himself.  Nothing  can 
be  sadder  than  his  confessions,  or  mark  better  the  mad- 
ness of  love,  and  the  sentiment  of  human  weakness : 
*  When  my  love  swears  that  she  is  made  of  truth, 
I  do  believe  her,  though  I  know  she  lies.' — Sonnet  1S8. 

So  spoke  Alceste  of  Celim^ne ;  but  what  a  soiled  Celi- 
rabue  is  the  creature  before  whom  Shakespeare  kneels, 
with  as  much  of  scorn  as  of  desire ! 

' — those  lips  of  thine, 
That  have  profaned  their  scarlet  ornaments, 
And  seal'd  false  bonds  of  love  as  oft  as  mine, 
Robb'd  others'  beds'  revenues  of  their  rents. 
Be  it  lawful  I  love  thee,  as  thou  lov'st  those 
Whom  thine  eyes  woo  as  mine  importune  thee.' 

— Sonnet  H2. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  363 

This  is  plain-speaking  and  deep  shamelessness  of  soul,  such 
as  we  find  only  in  the  ste^os  ;  and  these  are  the  intoxica- 
tions, the  excesses,  the  delirium  into  which  the  most  re- 
fined artists  fall,  when  they  resign  their  own  nohle  hand 
to  these  soft,  voluptuous,  and  clinging  ones.  They  are 
higher  than  princes,  and  they  descend  to  the  lowest  depths 
of  sensual  passion." 

And  again  :  "  Falstaff  has  the  passions  of  an  animal ; 
and  the  imagination  of  a  man  of  wit.  There  is  no  char- 
acter which  better  exemplifies  the  fire  and  immorality  of 
Shakespeare.*  Falstaff  is  a  great  supporter  of  disrepu- 
table places,  swearer,  gamester,  idler,  wine-bibber,  as  low 
as  he  well  can  be.  .  .  .  This  big,  pot-bellied  fellow,  a 
coward,  a  cynic,  a  brawler,  a  drunkard,  a  lewd  rascal,  a 
pot-house  poet,  is  one  of  Shakespeare's  favorites.  The 
reason  is,  that  his  morals  are  those  of  pure  nature,  and 
Shakespeare's  mind  is  congenial  with  his  own." 

The  explanation  is  not  far  to  seek.  Taine  had  the 
happy  faculty  of  penetrating,  at  once,  to  what  he  conceived 
to  be  the  heart  of  a  subject,  and  working  thence  from 
within  outv/ard.  And  what  is  the  heart  of  a  book  but 
the  personality  of  its  author  ?  A  worthy  book,  indeed,  is 
a  stream  of  thought,  flowing  from  a  fountain-head,  and 
partaking  of  its  properties  :  or  as  Milton  eloquently  puts 
it, in  his  prose  : 

"  For  books  are  not  absolutely  dead  things,  but  do  con- 
tain a  potency  of  life  in  them,  to  be  as  active  as  that  soul 

*  It  is  now  evident  that  the  Poet  no  more  exemplifies  him- 
self in  Falstaff,  than  in  Richard  III.,  or  lago,  or  Edmund.  In 
all  these  he  simply  "  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature,"  reflecting 
objects  "  as  they  are  ":  and  it  is  in  this,  that  he  most  truly  re- 
veals his  personality. 

If  at  all,  it  is  perhaps  in  Prospero,  in  The  Tempest  (that  ex- 
quisitely symbolical  creation,  whose  depth  of  meaning  it  is  re- 
served for  other  ages  to  fathom)  that  the  Poet  gives  expression 
to  his  own  individuality. 


•>64  FRANCIS    BACON 

was  whose  progeny  they  are  ;  nay,  they  do  preserve  as  in 
a  vial  the  purest  efficacy  and  extraction  of  that  living  in- 
tellect that  bred  them.  .  .  .  Many  a  man  lives  a  burden 
to  the  earth ;  but  a  good  book  is  the  precious  life-blood 
of  a  master-spirit,  embalmed  and  treasured  up  on  purpose 
to  a  life  beyond  life." 

Consequently,  Taine  went  at  once  to  the  fountain-head, 
to  determine  the  quality  of  the  flowing  waters.  And  in 
this,  as  is  often  the  case,  he  became  the  victim  of  his  own 
underlying,  inexorable  logic.  His  major  premise,  per- 
fectly sound,  was  that  a  book,  in  its  essence,  is  a  mani- 
festation of  the  personality  of  its  author.  His  minor  pre- 
mise was,  that  this  was  the  work  of  William  jShakesjjeare. 
His  conclusion,  after  a  careful  study  of  the  man,  and  to 
one  of  Taine's  calibre,  was  inevitable. 

For  this  is  what  he  finds  and  reports  regarding  William 
Shakespeare : 

"  His  father,  a  glover  and  wool-stapler,  in  very  easy  cir- 
cumstances, having  married  a  sort  of  county  heiress,  had 
become  high-bailiff  and  chief  alderman  in  his  little  town  ; 
but  when  Shakespeare  was  nearly  fourteen,  he  was  on  the 
verge  of  ruin,  mortgaging  his  wife's  property,  obliged  to 
resign  his  municipal  offices,  and  to  remove  his  son  from 
school  to  assist  him  in  his  business.  The  young  fellow 
applied  himself  to  it  as  well  as  he  could,  not  without  some 
scrapes  and  frolics  :  if  we  are  to  believe  tradition,  he  was 
one  of  the  thirsty  souls  of  the  place,  with  a  mind  to  sup- 
port the  reputation  of  his  little  town  in  its  drinking  powers. 
Once,  they  say,  having  been  beaten  at  Bideford  in  one  of 
these  ale-bouts,  he  returned  staggering  from  the  fight,  or 
rather  could  not  return,  and  passed  the  night  with  his 
comrades  under  an  appletree  by  the  roadside.  ...  At 
all  events,  he  was  not  a  pattern  of  propriety,  and  his  pas- 
sions were  as  precocious  as  they  were  impudent.  While 
not  yet  nineteen  years  old,  he  married  the  daughter  of  a 
substantial  yeoman,  about  eight  years  older  than  himself 
— and  not  too  soon,  as  she  was  about  to  become  a  mother. 


AND    mS    SHAKESPEAKE.  365 

Other  of  his  outbreaks  were  no  more  fortunate.  It  seems 
that  he  was  fond  of  poaching,  after  the  manner  of  the 
time,  being  '  much  given  to  all  unluckinesse  in  stealing 
venison  and  rabbits,'  says  the  Rev.  Richard  Davies  ;  'par- 
ticularly from  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  who  had  him  oft  whipt 
and  sometimes  imprisoned,  and  at  last  made  him  fly  the 
country.'  .  .  .  He  went  to  London,  and  took  to  the  stage : 
took  the  lowest  part,  was  a  '  servant '  in  the  theatre,  that 
is,  an  apprentice,  or  perhaps  a  supernumerary.  They  even 
said  that  he  had  begun  still  lower,  and  that  to  earn  his 
bread  he  had  held  gentlemen's  horses  at  the  door  of  the 
theatre.  At  all  events,  he  tasted  misery  and  felt,  not  in 
imagination,  but  in  fact,  the  sharp  thorn  of  care,  humil- 
iation, disgust,  forced  labor,  public  discredit,  the  power 
of  the  people.  He  was  a  comedian,  one  of  '  His  Majesty's 
poor  players  ' —  a  sad  trade,  degraded  in  all  ages  by  the 
contrasts  and  the  falsehoods  which  it  allows  ;  still  more 
degraded  then  by  the  brutalities  of  the  crowd,  who  not 
seldom  would  stone  the  actors,  and  by  the  severities  of 
the  magistrates,  who  would  sometime  condemn  them  to 
lose  their  ears.  .  .  .  But  the  worst  of  this  under-valued 
position  is,  that  it  eats  into  the  soul.  In  the  company  of 
actors  we  become  actors :  it  is  vain  to  wish  to  keep  clean, 
if  you  live  in  a  dirty  place ;  it  cannot  be.  No  matter  if 
a  man  braces  himself ;  necessity  drives  him  into  a  corner 
and  sullies  him.  The  machinery  of  the  decorations,  the 
tawdriness  and  medley  of  the  costumes,  the  smell  of  the 
tallow  and  the  candles,  in  contrast  with  the  parade  of  re- 
finement and  loftiness,  all  the  cheats  and  sordidness  of  the 
representation,  the  bitter  alternative  of  hissing  or  ap- 
plause, the  keeping  of  the  highest  and  lowest  company, 
the  habit  of  sporting  with  human  passions,  easily  unhinge 
the  soul,  drive  it  down  the  slope  of  excess,  tempt  it  to 
loose  manners,  green-room  adventures,  the  loves  of  stroll- 
ing actresses. 

"  Shakespeare  escaped  them  no  more  than  Moliere,  and 
grieved  for  it,  like  Moliere : 


366  FRANCIS    BACON 

'  O,  for  my  sake  do  you  with  Fortune  chide, 
The  guilty  goddess  of  my  harmful  deeds, 
That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide. 
Than  public  means  which  public  manners  breeds.' 

— Sonnet  111. 

"  They  used  to  relate  in  London,  how  his  comrade  Bur- 
badge,  who  played  Richard  III.,  having  a  rendezvous  with 
the  wife  of  a  citizen,  Shakespeare  went  before,  was  well 
received,  and  was  pleasantly  occupied,  when  Burbadge 
arrived,  to  whom  he  sent  the  message,  that  William  the 
Conqueror  came  before  Richard  III.  We  may  take  this 
as  an  example  of  the  tricks  and  somewhat  coarse  intrigues 
which  are  planned,  and  follow  in  quick  succession,  on  this 
stage.  Outside  the  theatre,  he  lived  with  fashionable 
young  nobles,  Pembroke,  Montgomery,  Southampton,  and 
others,  whose  hot  and  licentious  youth  gratified  his  imag- 
ination and  senses  by  the  example  of  Italian  pleasures 
and  elegancies.  .  .  .  Under  a  sway  so  imperious  and  sus- 
tained, what  sentiment  could  maintain  its  ground  ?  That 
of  family  ?  He  was  married  and  had  children, — a  family 
which  he  went  to  see  '  once  a  year  ';  and  it  was  probably 
on  a  return  from  one  of  these  journeys  that  he  used  the 
words  above  quoted.  Conscience  ?  '  Love  is  too  young 
to  know  what  conscience  is.'  .  .  .  Neither  glory,  nor 
work,  nor  invention  satisfy  these  vehement  souls  :  love 
alone  can  gratify  them,  because,  with  their  senses  and 
heart,  it  contents  also  their  brain  ;  and  all  the  powers  of 
man,  imagination  like  the  rest,  find  in  it  their  concentration 
and  employment.  '  Love  is  my  sin,'  he  said,  as  did  Mus- 
set  and  Heine ;  and  in  the  Sonnets  we  find  traces  of  yet 
other  passions,  equally  abandoned ;  one  in  particular,  seem- 
ingly for  a  great  lady.  .  .   . 

"  Such  as  I  have  described  him,  however,  he  found  his 
resting-place.  Early,  at  least  what  regards  outward  ap- 
pearances, he  settled  down  to  an  orderly,  sensible,  almost 
humdrum  existence  ;  engaged  in  business,  provident  of 
the  future.  He  remained  on  the  stage  for  at  least  seven- 
teen years,  though  taking  secondary  parts  ;  he  set  his 


AND  HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  367 

wits  at  the  same  time  to  the  touching  up  of  plays  with  so 
much  activity,  that  Greene  called  him  '  an  upstart  crow 
beautified  with  our  feathers ;  ...  an  absolute  Johannes 
factotum^  in  his  owne  conceyt,  the  onely  shake-scene  in  a 
countrey.'  At  the  age  of  thirty-three  he  had  amassed 
money  enough  to  buy  at  Stratford  a  house  with  tv/o  barns 
and  two  gardens,  and  he  went  on  steadier  and  steadier  in 
the  same  course.  A  man  attains  only  to  easy  circum- 
stances by  his  own  labor  ;  if  he  gains  wealth,  it  is  by  mak- 
ing others  labor  for  him.  This  is  why,  to  the  trades  of 
actor  and  author,  Shakespeare  added  those  of  manager 
and  dii-ector  of  a  theatre.  He  acquired  a  share  in  the 
Blackfriars  and  Globe  theatres,  farmed  tithes,  bought 
large  pieces  of  land,  more  houses,  gave  a  dowry  to  his 
daughter  Susanna,  and  finally  retired  to  his  native  town 
on  his  property,  in  his  own  house,  like  a  good  landlord, 
an  honest  citizen,  who  manages  his  fortune  fitly,  and  takes 
his  share  of  municipal  work.  He  had  an  income  of  two 
or  three  hundred  pounds,  which  would  be  equivalent  to 
about  eight  or  twelve  hundred  at  the  present  time,  and 
according  to  tradition,  lived  cheerfully  and  on  good  terms 
with  his  neighbors  ;  at  all  events,  it  does  not  seem  that 
he  thought  much  about  his  literary  glory,  for  he  did  not 
even  take  the  trouble  to  collect  and  publish  his  works. 
One  of  his  daughters  married  a  physician,  the  other  a 
wine  merchant ;  the  last  did  not  even  know  how  to  sign 
her  name.  He  lent  money,  and  cut  a  good  figure  in  this 
little  world.  Strange  close  ;  one  which  at  first  sight  re- 
sembles more  that  of  a  shopkeeper  than  of  a  poet." 

Richard  Grant  White,  in  his  Life  and  Gcnms  of 
Shakespeare,  though  with  a  loving  hand,  applies  the  knife 
with  even  greater  severity.     He  says : 

"  But  for  this  loss  there  is  recompense  in  the  authen- 
ticity of  a  court  record,  by  which  we  know  that  in  August, 
1608,  Shakespeare  sued  John  Addenbroke  of  Stratford, 
got  a  judgment  for  £6,  and  £1  4.s.  costs,  and  that  Adden- 
broke being  returned  non  est  inventus,  Shakespeare  sued 


368  FRANCIS    BACON 

his  bail,  Thomas  Hornby,  the  proceedings  lasting  until 
June,  1609.  Four  years  before,  Shakespeare  had  sued 
one  Philip  Rogers  in  the  Stratford  Court  of  Record  for 
£1  15s.  lOd.  He  had  sold  Rogers  malt  to  the  value  of 
£1  19s.  lOd.,  and  had  lent  him  2s.,  of  which  the  debtor 
had  paid  but  6s.  And  so  Shakespeare  brought  suit  for 
what  is  called  in  trade  the  balance  of  the  account,  which 
represented  about  $9  of  our  money.  These  stories  grate 
upon  our  feelings  with  a  discord  as  much  harsher  than  that 
which  disturbs  us  when  we  hear  of  Addison  suing  poor 
Steele  for  XlOO,  as  Shakespeare  lives  in  our  hearts  the 
lovelier  as  well  as  the  greater  man  than  Addison.  But 
Addison's  case  was  aggravated  by  the  fact  that  the  debtor 
was  his  life-long  friend  and  fellow-laborer.  Debts  are  to 
be  paid,  and  rogues  who  can  pay  and  will  not  pay  must 
be  made  to  pay ;  but  the  pursuit  of  an  impoverished  man, 
for  the  sake  of  imprisoning  him  and  depriving  him  both 
of  the  power  of  paying  his  debt  and  supporting  himself 
and  his  family,  is  an  incident  in  Shakespeare's  life  which 
it  requires  the  utmost  allowance  and  consideration  for  the 
practice  of  the  time  and  country  to  enable  us  to  contem- 
plate with  equanimity, —  satisfaction  is  impossible. 

"The  biographer  of  Shakespeare  must  record  these 
facts,  because  the  literary  antiquaries  have  unearthed  and 
brought  them  forward  as  '  new  particulars  of  the  life  of 
Shakespeare.'  We  hunger,  and  we  receive  these  husks  ; 
we  open  our  mouths  for  food,  and  we  break  our  teeth 
against  these  stones." 

As  was  inevitable,  we  have  come  at  length  to  the  inter- 
section, where  the  two  pathways  squarely  cross  each  other. 
It  is  incumbent  upon  us  to  choose  the  path  in  which  we 
will  hereafter  tread, — between  Francis  Bacon  and  William 
Shakespeare,  —  which,  in  view  of  all  the  data,  we  will 
accept  as  the  actual  author  of  the  plays. 

If  we  choose  William  Shakespeare,  we  shall  have  this 
advantage,  that  the  Shakespeare  who  is  the  idol  of  our 
affections,  whom  we  love  and  revere,  will  continue  to  be. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  1^69 

as  in  the  past,  an  ideal  character,  ahnost  exckisively  the 
creation  of  our  own  imagination.  Every  mental  quality 
and  power  of  the  intellect,  knowledge  of  "  all  that  God 
had  revealed,  and  all  that  man  had  discovered,"  famil- 
iarity with  court  life  in  its  amenities  and  nice  gradations, 
the  delicacy  of  refined  cultivation,  the  exquisite  harmony 
of  soul,  attuned  to  the  finer  issues,  broad,  comprehensive 
views  of  life  and  its  movements,  and  of  the  moral  relations 
of  the  individual,  every  excellence  and  beauty  of  soul,  and 
all  the  "  loveliness "  that  we  find  reflected  in  the  plays 
will  inevitably  be  interwoven  and  incorporated  in  this 
ideal  that  is  enshrined  in  our  hearts.  And  the  finer  our 
ov/n  natures,  and  the  more  delicate  our  sensibilities,  the 
sweeter,  the  richer,  and  the  lovelier  will  be  our  creation. 

Only,  we  shall  from  time  to  time  be  rudely  shocked  by 
the  "  discord,"  our  "  equanimity  "  disturbed,  and  our  satis- 
faction turned  into  disgust,  as  was  the  case  with  Richard 
Grant  White,  when  we  are  involuntarily  brought  into  con- 
tact with  the  cold,  hard  facts  of  the  reality  ;  unearthed 
by  the  pestiferous  antiquarians,  those  iconoclasts  who  have 
so  repeatedly  been  destructive  to  our  illusions.  And  at 
such  moments,  we  shall  be  haunted  by  the  lurking  sus- 
picion that  some  future  psychologist,  master  of  his  theme, 
will  use  us  to  exemplify  his  proposition,  that  such  is  the 
inherent  weakness  of  human  nature,  that  the  most  enlight- 
ened people,  at  the  close  of  the  Nineteenth  century,  could 
cling  with  devotion  to  a  long-cherished  illusion  ;  even  after 
their  eyes  had  been  opened  to  its  inconsistency,  and  to  its 
glaring  absurdities.  And  in  the  end,  we  shall  find  that 
there  is  no  rest  for  our  souls. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  through  our  continual  recog- 
nition of  his  unmistakable  personality  in  its  essential 
phases  ;  of  his  sweet,  kindly  spirit,  with  its  grandly  benefi- 
cent intent;  of  his  wonderful  imaginative  power,  tem- 
pered with  the  utmost  good  sense ;  of  his  rich  mentality. 


870  FRANCIS    BACON 

in  its  thousand-fold  manifestations  ;  exemplified  in  under- 
lying principles,  in  broad  outlines,  and  in  the  minutest 
details ;  comprising  every  department  of  thought,  the  accu- 
mulated knowledge  of  the  ages,  the  widest  range  of  ob- 
servation, and  the  most  sage  reflections  and  "  maxims  of 
experience,"  underlying  '  the  whole  theory  of  the  plays' 
dramatic  forms';  in  a  universality  unparalleled  ;  including 
an  equally  unparalleled  "  comprehension  of  human  na- 
ture," and  a  distinctive  moral  philosophy,  '  from  which 
the  most  striking  mottoes  might  be  drawn  for  every  play, 
aye,  for  every  one  of  the  principal  characters ';  and  all 
blending  in  that  unity  and  perfect  consistency  which  is 
solely  the  attribute  of  individuality,  we  are  led  to  intelli- 
gently accept  Francis  Bacon  as  the  actual  author  of  the 
plays,  we  descend  at  once  from  the  clouds  to  the  solid 
earth,  and  are  ushered  into  the  legitimate  domain  of  the 
realities  ;  where  harmony  dwells,  where  study  meets  with 
an  ample,  continuous,  and  enduring  reward,  and  wherein 
we  experience  continually  the  gratification  and  the  joy  of 
conscious  growth. 

We  find,  back  of  the  creation,  its  greater  creator ;  of 
whom  it  is  "  bone  of  his  bone,  and  flesh  of  his  flesh."  A 
rich  mine  is  opened  to  our  possession,  almost  exhaustless 
in  its  treasure.  And  every  vein  that  we  work,  in  every 
direction,  not  only  affords  us  striking  confirmation,  but 
yields  to  us  additional  resources ;  contributing  materially 
to  our  better  comprehension  of  the  plays,  of  the  sources 
of  their  power,  of  the  laws  underlying  their  development, 
and  of  the  methods  of  the  Master. 

And  above  all,  when  our  minds  shall  have  once  been 
disabused  of  the  idea  of  the  semi-miraculous  origin  of  the 
Inlays ;  when  we  shall  discern,  in  their  every  element  and 
development,  the  orderly  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  and 
shall  realize  that  they  are  actually  the  production  of  the 
normal  human  intellect  in  its  highest  development,  the 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  371 

glittering  fetters  that  have  hitherto  insensibly  enchained 
the  race  will  be  broken  asunder.  In  the  newly  awakened 
consciousness  of  their  inherent  powers,  the  youth  of  suc- 
ceeding generations,  appreciating  the  conditions  involved, 
will  be  inspired  to  like  effort,  in  a  devotion  that  will  pay 
the  price :  and  if  we  mistake  not,  we  shall  then  be  blessed 
with  another  Golden  Age  in  Literature,  of  even  greater 
lustre,  more  widely  extended,  more  productive,  and  more 
enduring,  than  any  the  world  has  ever  known : 

"  There  shall  be  sung  another  golden  age, 
The  rise  of  empire  and  of  arts, 
The  good  and  great  uprising  epic  rage, 
The  wisest  heads  and  noblest  hearts. 


"  Westward  the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way ; 
The  first  four  acts  already  past, 
The  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day ; 
Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last." 

With  the  abundant  data  now  before  us,  and  where  so 
much  is  involved,  it  is  due  to  ourselves,  that  we  come  to  a 
conclusion ;  for  indecision,  as  was  shown  in  Cicero,  is  de- 
structive to  both  the  mental  and  the  moral  fibre.  More- 
over, as  with  Taine,  the  conclusion  at  which  we  arrive  will 
unavoidably  color  our  whole  conception  and  understand- 
ing of  the  plays  ;  of  their  morality,  of  the  quality  of  their 
inspiration,  and  of  the  sordidness  or  the  grandeur  of  their 
embodied  purpose. 

Personally,  as  was  said  in  the  Prologue,  we  have  long 
been  convinced  "  beyond  a  reasonable  doubt ":  we  are 
now  consciously  resting  upon  a  certainty ;  and  there  is 
contentment,  aye  joy  in  the  harmony. 


372  FRANCIS    BACON 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

If  we  would  adequately  comprehend  Bacon's  potent  influ- 
ence upon  the  destinies  of  the  race,  we  must  cast  a  glance 
through  the  long  vista  of  the  preceding  ages,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, take  the  bearings  of  the  great  currents  of  the  world's 
thought. 

Looking  thus  backward,  our  eye  is  at  once  arrested  by 
a  bright  light,  whose  steady  glow  effectually  pales  the 
few  dim,  phosphorescent  lights  that  flicker  behind  it.  Our 
attention  is  thus  fastened  upon  ancient  Greece,  the  centre 
and  source  of  this  illumination. 

The  Greeks  were,  indeed,  a  race  of  intellectual  giants  ; 
developing  a  power  and  a  mastery  of  their  materials  which 
not  only  raised  them  to  the  summit  of  ancient  civilization, 
but  wrought  their  enduring  impress  upon  the  human  race  ; 
subtly  moulding  its  thought,  its  science,  its  art,  and  its 
philosophy ;  strongly  influencing  even  our  minds  to-day. 

Somehow,  possibly  through  Homer's  all-pervasive  influ- 
ence, they  drew  close  to  nature ;  catching  from  her  inspira- 
tion, and  entering  into  sympathy  with  her  diverse  moods  ; 
her  joyousness,  and  her  infinite  tragedy ;  her  intense  ac- 
tivity, and  her  impassive  repose,  eternal  as  Mount  Olym- 
pus. Feeding  in  its  infancy  upon  Homer,  and  for  gen- 
erations continually  assimilating  his  poetry — the  simplest, 
the  most  faithful  objective  reflection  of  nature  and  hu- 
manity— the  nation  grew  and  developed  upon  these  lines, 
until,  in  the  time  of  Pericles,  it  attained  to  its  Golden 
Age,  of  surpassing  lustre.     It  was  the  age  of  Anaxagoras 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  373 

and  Democritus,  of  Thucydides,  Herodotus,  and  Xeno- 
phon,  of  Pericles  and  Lysias,  of  Simonides  and  Pindar, 
of  ^schyliis,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  and  Aristophanes,  of 
Myron,  Polyclites,  and  Phidias. 

It  is  an  accepted  truism,  that  the  spirit  of  an  age  is 
reflected  in  its  art.  And  Charles  Waldstein,  in  his  mas- 
terly Essays  on  the  Art  of  Pheidias,  has  opened  for  us 
this  window  ;  enabling  us  to  look  through  it  into  the  very 
soul  of  the  Greek  nation  in  that  age.*     He  says : 

"  In  the  third  place,  having  examined  the  causes,  we 
have  to  indicate  several  manifestations  of  the  '  simply ' 
observing  and  plastic  spirit  of  the  Greeks,  which  we  no- 
tice as  the  most  striking  characteristic  in  all  the  spheres 
of  their  life  and  thought. f 

*  Mr.  Charles  Dudley  Warnei*,  in  Harper's  Magazine  for 
Dec,  1893,  says:  "We  all  recall  three  notewortliy  essays  in 
criticism:  Lessing's  Laocoon;  Charles  Walstein's  The  Art  of 
Pheidias;  and  Matlhew  Arnold's  The  Function  of  Criticism  at 
the  Present  Time.  These  all  relate  to  the  higher  criticism  — 
the  application  of  principles  to  details  —  but  they  are  examples 
of  it." 

t  Our  author  explains  that  he  uses  the  word  "  plastic  "  in  a 
special,  peculiar  sense,  in  conformity  with  the  German  usage : 
"  Plastic  art,"  he  says,  "  corresponds  rather  to  things  in  them- 
selves ;  painting  (and  this  is  still  more  the  case  with  poetry  )  cor- 
responds rather  to  the  relation  between  things.  The  plastic  mind 
is  simply  observing ;  the  pictorial  and  poetic  minds  are  less  in- 
tuitive, more  reflective  and  associative. 

"  Hence  the  plastic  mind,  in  the  active  sense  of  the  term, 
comes  to  mean  the  mind  which  acts  through  the  senses  alone, 
by  pure  and  simple  sensuous  observation ;  while  the  pictorial  or 
the  poetic  tendency  is  less  intuitive,  more  reflective  and  associa- 
tive. The  word  '  plastic '  in  this  active  sense  has  been  so  long 
in  use  in  Germany  to  express  this  definite  idea,  tliat  though  less 
widely  used  in  England,  it  becomes  a  necessity  to  adopt  it  in 
dealing  with  the  present  subject. 

"  The  ancient  Greeks  were  thus  '  simjjly  '  observing  and  plas- 
tic in  mind  ;  while  we  of  modern  times  are,  so  to  .say,  verbal 
rather  tlaan  plastic.     The  Greeks  thought  by  means  of  the  iu- 


374  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  Their  very  language  is  immediately  based  upon  oh- 
servatlon  of  nature.  The  Greek  drew  his  words  from  the 
direct  source  of  nature,  while  the  Roman  introduces  some 
abstraction,  some  mental  association.  .  .  .  The  words 
npoftarov  and  eiXinodss  ^ovs  evidence  their  minute  ob- 
servation of  outer  nature,  denoting  that  the  sheep  in  walk- 
ing places  one  foot  before  the  other,  while  cattle  drag  one 
foot  after  the  other.  It  is  most  interesting  to  read  through 
Homer  or  any  one  of  the  great  poets  v/ith  this  question  in 
view,  and  to  see  how  perfectly  simple  and  sensuous  are 
the  attributes  and  compound  words  used  by  them.  The 
more  we  study  their  language  the  more  strongly  will  this 
characteristic  impress  itself  uj^on  us. 

"  In  their  building,  too,  and  engineering,  the  first  step 
with  the  Greeks  is  the  clinging  to  nature  and  the  adapta- 
tion to  the  natural  environment.  The  Romans,  however, 
construct  almost  irrespective  of  the  environing  nature, 
appearing  almost  to  repel  the  suggestions  made  to  their 
senses  by  the  material  at  hand.    .    .    . 

"  The  religion  of  the  Greeks  has  ever  been  recognized 
as  intimately  connected  with  their  feeling  for  form  and 
its  manifestation  in  their  sculpture.  As  Greek  art  was 
strongly  influenced  by  their  mythology,  so  their  works  of 
art  again  reacted  upon  and  modified  their  religious  feeling. 
Yet  both  in  their  mythology  and  in  their  religious  art,  the// 
clung  to  nature  and  avoided  abstraction.    While  the  gods 

ner  representations  of  the  things  themselves,  while  w,e  tliink  by 
the  representations  of  words ;  be  it  in  recalling  their  sound  or 
their  written  symbols.  We  have  lost  the  power  of  simple  ob- 
servation and  our  interest  in  the  things  themselves,  that  is, 
things  independent  of  their  relation  to  other  things  or  to  us. 
The  Greek  carried  his  humanity  into  inanimate  nature,  endowed 
it  with  a  self-centered  life  of  its  own ;  we  draw  nature  into  the 
sphere  of  humanity  and  regard  it  in  the  light  of  use  or  con- 
scious pleasure." 

It  is  in  this  sense  of  the  word  that  he  observes  that,  "  The 
distinctive  characterististic  of  the  descriptions  of  Homer  is  that 
they  are  essentially  plastic." 


AND    HIS    SIIAKESPEAKE.  375 

of  the  Greeks  arose  out  of  nature,  aud  did  not  transcend 
it,  even  when  they  developed  into  personality,  the  specif- 
ically Roman  gods,  such  as  Saturnus,  Ops,  Terminus, 
arose  from  preconceived  notions  of  human  needs.  .  .  . 
[After  discussing  the  Oriental  gods,  he  continues].  .  .  . 
Therefore  it  is,  that  these  Oriental  types  must  remain  the 
same  and  there  can  be  no  development,  or  else  the  known 
difference  between  man  and  gods  would  not  remain  fixed  ; 
while  the  Greek  gods  may  develop  in  their  type  and  in 
their  representation,  because  influenced  and  essentially 
modified  by  impressions  from  nature.  The  Oriental  is  the 
upshot  of  reflection  aud  abstraction,  the  Greek  of  '  simple  ' 
observation,  which  directs  the  course  of  the  imaffination. 

"  It  has  further  been  universally  acknowledged  that 
Greek  poetry  is  essentially  plastic  in  character.  Its  im- 
agery, beginning  witli  the  Homeric  attributes,  appeals 
above  all  things  to  the  eye.  The  persons  and  things  de- 
scribed stand  before  our  eyes  in  their  visible  form  before 
they  appeal  to  our  sympathy  with  their  spiritual  qualities  ; 
nay,  in  Homer,  who  manifests  his  appreciation  of  form 
and  his  study  of  nature  in  his  detailed  descriptions  of  the 
anatomy  of  the  body  in  his  wounded  or  falling  heroes,  spir- 
itual qualities,  such  as  majesty,  power,  kindliness,  effem- 
inacy, vileness,  are  merely  conveyed  by  the  description  of 
their  physical  correlatives.  And  we  must  not  ignore  this 
element  in  the  representation  of  the  Greek  dramas.  .  .   . 

"  I  have  devoted  all  this  space  to  suggesting  in  some 
way  the  plastic  character  of  the  Greek  mind,  because  it 
is  the  fundamental  characteristic  of  Greek  culture.  If  we 
are  ignorant  of  this  quality,  it  is  in  vain  for  us  to  strive 
at  appreciating  Greek  antiquity,  and  at  conceiving  justly 
the  position  of  classical  archaeology.  We  may  now  say 
with  Welcker :  '  That  the  plastic  spirit  which  distinguishes 
the  Greeks,  gives  to  their  mythology  and  poetry  the  high- 
est worth  and  penetrates  their  whole  culture,  stands  forth 
in  greater  clearness  and  richness  in  the  art  which  takes  its 
name  from  it  than  in  all  others.  Therefore  the  plastic  arts 
are  a  school  of  the  science  of  autiipiity  in  general,  aud  a 


376  FKAl'JClS    BACON 

necessary  and  important  constituent  element  of  the  studies 
of  antiquity.' " 

And  again  :  "  The  palaestra  was  the  real  school  for  the 
Greek  artist :  here  he  spent  his  time  and  studied  the  hu- 
man form  ;  but  not  only  in  individuals.  Constantly  from 
his  earliest  youth,  day  by  day,  he  had  before  his  eye  num- 
bers of  well-built  youths  in  all  attitudes  and  all  actions, 
and  these  series  of  individual  forms  impressed  themselves 
upon  his  mind,  until  they  became  an  intrinsic  part  of  his 
visual  memory  and  imagination,  forming,  as  it  were,  an 
alphabet,,  with  which  he  could  create  at  will  things  of  great 
and  new  meaning.  Just  as  letters,  v/ords,  and  grammar 
have  become  to  us  elements  and  units  of  thought,  which 
lie  ready  to  be  composed,  without  effort,  as  far  as  they  are 
concerned,  into  phrases,  sentences,  periods,  books,  poems, 
and  orations,  with  great  and  new  meaning  and  perfect  form, 
so  the  existing  human  bodies  and  their  changes  in  various 
attitudes  and  actions  became  such  elements  to  the  visual 
and  imaginative  mind  of  the  ancient  Greek  artists.  They 
did  not  require  conscious  attention,  but  became  the  parts 
of  a  great  and  new  composition,  with  a  meaning  and 
spirit  as  a  whole,  lofty  and  high,  yet  ever  intelligible,  he- 
cause  composed  of  these  elements  familiar  to  man  from, 
the  daily  suggestion  of  nature.'" 

We  have  here  placed  within  our  grasp  "  the  funda- 
mental characteristic  of  Greek  culture,"  its  source,  its 
method  of  development,  and  the  secret  of  its  power.  In 
a  word,  it  was  the  close  observation  of  nature,  in  the  inti- 
macy of  constant,  familiar  "converse,"  the  acquirement 
of  the  "  alphabet "  of  her  elements,  and  their  subsequent 
elaboration  into  new  works  of  profound  significance, 
through  the  legitimate,  normal  union  of  the  imagination 
and  realities,^ based  upon  an  observation  "which  directs 
the  course  of  the  imagination."  In  the  light  of  its  glori- 
ous results,  it  stands  forth  as  a  great  "  object  lesson  "  to 
ourselves,  teaching  us,  by  its  exemplification,  the  inesti- 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  377 

mable  importance  of  the  fundamental  precept,  '*  that  the 
eye  of  the  mind  be  never  taken  off  from  things  themselves, 
but  receive  their  images  truly  as  they  are," — not  only  in 
science,  but  in  the  higher  departments  of  thought,  in 
poetry,  in  literature,  and  in  art  itself. 

And  now  there  came  into  activity  an  antagonistic  force, 
in  the  person  of  one  of  the  greatest  intellects  the  world 
has  ever  known.  This  was  the  philosopher,  Plato,  "  the 
father  of  Idealism  in  philosophy,  in  politics,  in  literature." 

Gifted  with  natural  endowments  of  the  highest  order, 
he  developed  a  power  of  concentration  in  abstract  contem- 
plation that  has  perhaps  never  been  equalled.  And  to  this, 
he  added  the  acquirement  of  all  that  the  Greek  "  plastic  " 
culture  could  afford  in  its  best  estate :  so  that  he  was  en- 
abled to  clothe  his  ideas  in  such  perfectly  fitting  material 
forms,  and  in  such  beautiful  guise,  that  his  prose,  in  the 
original,  has  almost  the  power  and  the  charm  of  poetry. 

Thus  equipped,  however,  he  taught,  with  singular  power, 
a  philosophy  aggressively  hostile  to  the  plastic  spirit  which 
had  produced  his  culture ;  weakening  man's  hold  upon 
material  existence,  in  this  bond  with  nature  ;  sundering  its 
ties,  through  his  emancipation  into  the  joys  of  a  more 
glorious  liberty  ;  diverting  his  mind  from  the  close,  ob- 
jective study  of  the  realities  about  him,  and  concentrating 
it  upon  the  inward,  subjective  contemplation  of  "  higher  " 
ideals,  evolved  from  within,  paramount  in  value,  and  which 
were  alone  worthy  of  the  soul's  regard. 

He  gave  this  Idealism  distinct  utterance  in  his  Phucdo, 
perhaps  the  most  powerful  of  his  works  ;  modestly  put- 
ting all  into  the  mouth  of  Socrates,  his  deceased  master. 
The  following  extracts,  whose  length  seems  justified  by 
their  importance,  will  give  the  reader  a  clear  insight  into 
the  spirit,  and  tiie  inherent  tendencies  of  Plato's  doctrine  : 

"  And  were  we  not  saying  long  ago  that  the  soul,  when 


378  FRANCIS    BACON 

using  the  body  as  an  instrument  of  perception,  that  is  to 
say,  when  using  the  sense  of  sight  or  hearing  or  some 
other  sense  (for  the  meaning  of  perceiving  through  the 
body  is  perceiving  through  the  senses) — were  we  not  say- 
ing that  the  soul  too  is  then  dragged  by  the  body  into  the 
region  of  the  changeable,  and  wanders  and  is  confused ; 
the  world  spins  round  her,  and  she  is  like  a  drunkard, 
when  she  touches  change  ? 

"  Very  true. 

"  But  when  returning  into  herself  she  reflects,  then  she 
passes  into  the  other  world,  the  region  of  purity,  and  eter- 
nity, and  immortality,  and  unchangeableness,  which  are 
her  kindred,  and  with  them  she  ever  lives,  when  she  is  by 
herself  and  is  not  let  or  hindered ;  then  she  ceases  from 
her  erring  ways,  and  being  in  communion  with  the  un- 
unchanging  is  unchanging.  And  this  state  of  the  soul  is 
called  wisdom? 

"  That  is  well  and  truly  said,  Socrates,  he  replied. 

"  The  Lovers  of  knowledge  are  conscious  that  the  soul 
was  simply  fastened  and  glued  to  the  body  —  until  phil- 
osophy received  her,  she  could  only  view  real  existence 
through  the  bars  of  a  prism,  not  in  and  through  herself  ; 
she  was  wallowing  in  the  mire  of  every  sort  of  ignorance, 
and  by  reason  of  lust  had  become  the  principal  accom- 
plice in  her  own  captivity.  This  was  her  original  state ; 
and  then,  as  I  was  saying,  and  as  the  lovers  of  knowledge 
are  well  aware,  philosophy,  seeing  how  terrible  was  her 
confinement,  of  which  she  was  to  herself  the  cause,  re- 
ceived and  gently  comforted  her  and  sought  to  release 
her,  pointing  out  that  the  eye  and  the  ear  and  the  other 
senses  are  full  of  deception,  and  persuading  her  to  retire 
from  them,  and  abstain  from  all  but  the  necessary  use  of 
them,  and  be  gathered  up  and  collected  into  herself,  bid- 
ding her  trust  in  herself  and  her  own  pure  apprehension 
of  pure  existence,  and  to  mistrust  whatever  comes  to  her 
through  other  channels  and  is  subject  to  variation ;  for 
such  things  are  visible  and  tangible,  but  what  she  sees  in 
her  own  nature  is  intelligible  and  invisible." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  379 

"  Is  there  or  is  there  not  an  absolute  justice  ? 

"  Assuredly  there  is. 

"And  an  absolute  beauty  and  absolute  good ? 

"  Of  course. 

"  But  did  you  ever  behold  any  of  them  with  your  eyes  ? 

"  Certainly  not. 

"  Or  did  you  ever  reach  them  with  any  other  bodily 
sense  ?  —  and  I  speak  not  of  these  alone,  but  of  absolute 
greatness,  and  health,  and  strength,  and  of  the  essence  or 
true  nature  of  everything.  Has  the  reality  of  them  ever 
been  perceived  by  you  through  the  bodily  organs?  or 
rather,  is  not  the  nearest  approach  to  the  knowledge  of 
their  several  natures  made  by  him  who  so  orders  his  in- 
tellectual vision  as  to  have  the  most  exact  conception  of 
the  essence  of  such  thing  which  he  considers  ? 

"  Certainly. 

"  And  he  attains  to  the  purest  knowledge  of  them  who 
goes  to  each  with  the  mind  alone,  not  introducing  or  in- 
truding in  the  act  of  thought  sight  or  any  other  sense 
together  with  reason,  but  with  the  very  light  of  the  mind 
in  her  own  clearness  searches  into  the  very  truth  of  each  ; 
he  who  has  got  rid,  so  far  as  he  can,  of  eyes  and  ears  and, 
so  to  speak,  of  the  whole  body,  these  being  in  his  opinion 
distracting  elements  which  when  they  infect  the  soul 
hinder  her  from  acquiring  truth  and  knowledge — who,  if 
not  he,  is  likely  to  attain  to  the  knov/ledge  of  true  being  ?  " 

"  When  I  was  young,  Cebes,  I  had  a  prodigious  desire 
to  know  that  department  of  philoso})hy  which  is  called 
the  investigation  of  nature  ;  to  know  the  causes  of  things, 
and  why  a  thing  is  and  is  created  or  destroyed,  appeared 
to  me  a  lofty  profession ;  and  I  was  always  agitating  my- 
self with  the  consideration  of  questions  such  as  these  :  — 
Is  the  growth  of  animals  the  growth  of  some  decay  which 
the  hot  and  cold  principle  contracts,  as  some  have  said  ? 
Is  the  blood  the  element  with  which  we  think,  or  the  air, 
or  the  fire  ?  or  perhaps  nothing  of  the  kind  —  but  the 
brain  may  be  the  originating  power  of  the  perceptions  of 


380  FRANCIS    BACON 

hearing  and  sight  and  smell,  and  memory  and  opinion 
may  come  from  them,  and  science  may  be  based  on  mem- 
ory and  opinion  when  they  have  attained  fixity.  And  then 
I  went  on  to  examine  the  corruption  of  them,  and  then  to 
the  things  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  at  last  I  concluded 
myself  to  be  utterly  and  absolutely  incapable  of  these 
inquiries,  as  I  will  satisfactorily  prove  to  you.  ...  I 
thought  that  as  I  had  failed  in  the  contemplation  of  true 
existence,  I  ought  to  be  careful  that  I  did  not  lose  the 
eye  of  my  soul ;  as  people  may  injure  their  bodily  eye  by 
observing  and  gazing  on  the  sun  during  an  eclipse,  un- 
less they  take  the  precaution  of  looking  at  the  image  re- 
flected in  the  water,  or  in  some  similar  medium.  So  in 
my  own  case,  I  was  afraid  that  my  soul  might  be  blinded 
altogether,  if  I  looked  at  things  with  my  eyes  or  tried  to 
apprehend  them  by  the  help  of  the  senses.  And  I  thought 
that  I  had  better  have  recourse  to  the  world  of  mind,  and 
seek  there  the  truth  of  existence.  I  dare  say  the  simile 
is  not  perfect — for  I  am  very  far  from  admitting  that  he 
who  contemplates  existences  through  the  medium  of 
thought,  sees  them  only  '  through  a  glass  darkly,'  any 
more  than  he  who  considers  them  in  action  and  operation. 
However  this  was  the  method  which  I  adopted :  I  first 
assumed  some  principle  which  I  judged  to  be  the  strong- 
est, and  then  I  affirmed  as  true  what  seemed  to  agree  with 
this,  whether  relating  to  the  cause  or  to  anything  else ; 
and  that  which  disagreed,  I  regarded  as  untrue." 

The  subtly  seductive  charm  of  this  philosophy,  or  \AvAi 
has  been  called  its  "  intoxicating  power,"  seems  due,  lir.st, 
to  its  insidious  appeal  to  man's  Egotism  and  his  pride  of 
intellect :  "  Ye  shall  be  as  gods," — and  of  your  own  miglifc 
partake  of  their  nectar  !  And,  as  Bacon  afterwards  devel- 
()})ed,  this  is  but  a  refined  form  of  idolatry  —  one  of  tlie 
Idola  of  mankind. 

And  second,  its  power  is  intensified  by  the  delusive  sat- 
isfactions it  continually  affords  to  the  highest  aspirations 
of  the  soul.     The  beauty  of  goodness,  absolute  justice, 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  881 

beauty  and  good,  tiie  perfection  of  wisdom  and  of  virtue, 
are  indeed  lofty  themes,  whose  profound  contemplation 
awakens  visions  of  heavenly  bliss,  and  exalts  the  soul. 
But  an  ideal,  nevertheless,  in  its  essence,  is  an  abstraction^ 
— and  abstractions,  to  just  the  extent  in  which  they  are 
insufficient  representations  of  the  reality,  are  inadequate, 
delusive,  and  inefficient. 

This  is  exemplified  even  in  the  Mathematics,  the  home 
and  very  throne  of  abstractions.  We  would  be  the  last 
to  underrate  the  power  of  mathematical  analysis ;  espe- 
cially in  view  of  the  remarkable  achievements  of  Clerk 
Maxwell,  in  its  application  to  electricity, — working  out  the 
same  conclusions  at  which  Faraday  had  previously  arrived 
by  experiment,  and  also  others  which  have  since  been  ver- 
ified. Nevertheless,  and  because  of  the  inadequate  cor- 
respondence of  its  abstractions  to  the  reality,  this  analysis 
utterly  breaks  down  before  the  simplest  problem  of  the 
form  of  matter  in  its  solidity. 

Take  the  simple  solid,  the  right,  rectangular  parallel- 
opiped,  and  given  the  sum  of  all  its  lines,  its  aggregate 
surface,  and  its  solid  contents,  determine  its  three  di- 
mensions. Or  to  put  it  in  the  usual  form  :  let  the  sum 
of  its  three  dimensions  be  a,  the  sum  of  their  products, 
taken  two  and  two,  be  6,  and  their  direct  product  be  c  ; 
find  the  value  of  these  dimensions.  As  every  high-school 
graduate  knows,  this  involves  the  solution  of  an  equation 
of  the  third  degree,  cc'  —  ax^-\-  hx  =  c,  reducible  to  the  form 
01^  —  3px=2q,  where  ^9  and  q  are  known  values.  This  is 
resolved  in  the  final  formula, 


I         r  o  -i-      / 


a;  =  V  ?  +  V  (/  —  V  V  ?  —  V  'i  —  V' 

which  fulfils  the  requisite  condition,  that  the  value  of  the 
unknown  quantity  be  expressed  in  terms  of  the  known 
values.     But  as  in  this  case,  the  roots  are  all  real^  the 


382  FRANCIS    BACON 

formula  is  a  delusion,  involving  the  imaginary  quantity, 
sf—1;  and  we  have  to  throw  away  our  analysis,  and  resort, 
in  each  instance,  to  long,  tedious  methods  of  arithmetical 
approximation. 

This  analysis  is  based  upon  fundamental  abstractions. 
"  A  point  is  that  which  has  neither  length,  breadth,  nor 
thickness."  "  A  line  is  that  which  has  length,  but  neither 
breadth  nor  thickness,"  "  A  surface  is  that  which  has 
length  and  breadth,  but  no  thickness."  These  are  all  im- 
aginations :  there  are  no  such  things  in  reality.  But  turn- 
ing to  our  parallelopiped,  we  find  that  a  point,  in  its  actual, 
mathematical  relations  to  this  solid,  is  a  corner  where  three 
of  its  surfaces  intersect ;  and  which  partakes  of  the  rela- 
tions of  each  of  those  surfaces.  There  are  eisrht  of  them : 
and  as  each  has  thus  three  aspects,  there  is  a  total  of 
twenty-four  aspects  or  relations  under  which  the  point  ex- 
ists upon  this  solid.  In  like  manner,  we  find  that  the  line 
is  an  edge,  where  two  of  its  adjacent  surfaces  intersect ; 
partaking  of  the  relations  of  each  of  them.  There  are 
four  of  these  lines,  of  equal  length,  in  each  of  the  three 
dimensions ;  and  as  each  of  them  has  its  double  aspect, 
there  are  again  twenty-four  aspects  or  relations  in  which 
the  line  subsists  upon  the  solid.  We  find,  also,  that  a  sur- 
face, in  its  relations  to  the  solid,  is  one  of  its  sides,  which 
are  combined  in  three  pairs  of  equals  that  are  ojiposite 
each  other,  the  opposite  sides  obliterating  the  surface  when 
two  blocks  are  superimposed, — as  also  the  line  is  obliter- 
ated in  the  same  way — thus  disclosing  the  subsisting  rela- 
tions of  "  positive "  and  "  negative,"  co-equal  in  their 
mutuality,  and  uniting  in  obliteration ;  the  line,  however, 
being  thus  capable  of  obliteration  upon  each  of  its  two 
sides  or  aspects.  (As  each  of  the  six  sides  of  the  solid 
may  be  viewed  from  any  one  of  its  four  corners,  in  its  re- 
lations thereto  and  to  the  other  intersecting  sides,  it  may 
be  that  here,  also,  there  are  twenty-four  aspects  or  relations 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  38I> 

under  which  a  surface  may  be  regarded  upon  this  solid.) 

However  meagre  the  foregoing  "  observations,"  it  would 
seem  clear,  that  there  exists  in  the  form  of  matter,  in  its 
solidity,  a  body  of  relations  which  find  very  inadequate 
expression  in  our  present  analysis.  It  may  be  possible, 
that  this  analysis  might  be  so  expanded,  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  additional  signs  and  symbols,  that  the  final  form- 
ula for  the  value  of  x  would  even  infold  the  expression  of 
each  of  the  twelve  lines  of  the  solid,  four  of  them,  of  the 
same  length,  in  each  dimension. 

The  method  of  approach  would  seem  to  lie  in  this  direc- 
tion :  that  laying  aside,  for  the  time,  our  conceptions  based 
upon  the  present  abstractions,  with  their  ever  unfolding 
and  continually  discouraging  limitations,  (the  first  of  the 
formidable  difficulties  to  be  surmounted),  and  possibly 
availing  ourselves  of  an  expansion  of  Descartes'  relations 
of  "  position,"  we  go  back  to  first  principles,  and  study  our 
blocks  attentively,  aye  inductively,  to  discover  the  rela- 
tions of  their  form  in  their  actuality,  and,  if  possible,  to 
embody  an  expression  of  these  relations  in  our  analysis, 
— and  thus,  and  thus  only,  may  we  ever  hope  to  resolve 
this  simplest,  but  fundamental  problem  of  the  form  of  mat- 
ter in  its  actual  solidity. 

Again,  and  for  further  exemplification,  let  us  turn  to 
religion  and  ethics,  where  the  noblest  souls  fondly  cherish 
the  highest  ideals. 

Remembering  that  the  life  of  a  people  is  reflected  in  its 
art,  and  studying  the  religious  paintings  of  Italy  in  the 
time  of  Raphael,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Sassoferrato  and  Carlo 
Dolci,  we  find  there  continually  reflected  a  lofty,  most 
beautiful  ideal  of  the  summit  of  religion  in  man.  It  is 
contemplative  adoration,  often  rising  even  to  the  height 
of  rapturous  ecstacy.  One  has  only  to  look  into  the  faces 
of  some  of  Carlo  Dolci's  sainted  women,  to  see  the  satis- 
faction afforded  to  the  soul  by  this  blissful  contemplation. 


384  FRANCIS    BACON 

But  tills  beautiful  ideal  was  a  wholly  inadequate  represen- 
tation of  the  reality :  it  scarcely  expressed  a  fraction  of  a 
tithe  of  true  religion,  in  its  rightful  relations, — and  witness 
the  meagreness  of  the  whole  religious  life  of  the  people. 

On  the  other  hand,  Professor  Hoffman,  in  his  master- 
piece of  religious  painting  of  the  Nineteenth  century, 
"  Christ  in  the  Temple,"  has  given  expression,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  to  the  new  spirit  beginning  to  animate  the 
religious  life  of  our  time,  in  its  youth-like  awakening  into 
the  dawning  recognition  of  religion  in  its  reality ;  as  an 
activity^  flowing  from  within  outward,  in  beneficent  self- 
impartation  to  others.  This  is  reflected  in  the  picture,  in 
the  whole  attitude  and  mien  of  Christ,  in  his  manifest 
activity  of  mind  and  soul,  in  its  outward  movement,  stream- 
ing forth  through  his  eyes,  informing  his  face,  and  ex- 
pressed even  in  the  poise  of  his  fingers ;  and  with  his 
whole  energy  concentrated  upon  his  auditors. 

In  Jesus  Christ,  we  have  ever  before  us  the  living  em- 
bodiment of  pure,  true  religion,  in  its  reality ;  embracing 
all  its  relations  both  to  God  and  humanity.  As  yet,  we 
know  but  little  of  this  reality,  in  its  heights,  and  depths, 
and  breadth ;  simply  because  we  have  not  closely  studied 
him  objectively,  or  inductively  if  you  please,  but  instead, 
have  allowed  ideals,  of  our  own  forming,  to  cloud  our 
minds  and  obscure  our  vision.  But  there,  and  there  only, 
and  through  this  objective  study,  will  be  found,  not  only 
the  content  of  our  own  individual  happiness  and  destiny, 
but  the  ultimate  solution  of  the  mighty  ethical  problems 
that  are  enforcing  themselves  upon  society,  and  which 
must  be  solved. 

Christ  also  unfolded  the  new  law  of  wisdom  :  "  He  that 
doeth  my  will  shall  know  the  doctrine."  Not  idealization, 
but  realization  is  the  pathway  to  the  highest  wisdom:  and 
Plato's  Idealism  is  but  the  delusive  shadow  of  the  sub- 
stance embodied  in  Christ. 


AND    UIS    SHAKESPEARE.  385 

Nor  must  we  forget,  what  is  too  often  overlooked,  the 
actual  weakness  of  humanity,  and  our  pressing  need  for 
divine  aid ;  which,  in  reality,  has  been  provided,  in  the 
gift  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  which,  when  the  avenue  is  once 
opened  by  the  sincere  desire  and  the  attitude  of  faith,  illu- 
mines, aids,  and  comforts  the  soul,  —  working  eventually 
the  normal  union  of  Divinity  and  humanity  in  our  being, 
the  ultimate  destiny  of  the  race.  "  That  they  all  may  be 
one :  as  thou.  Father,  art  in  me,  and  I  in  thee,  that  they 
also  may  be  one  in  us." 

in  the  presence  of  such  realities,  pride  of  intellect  is 
extinguished  in  humility  of  soul:  and  ideals,  of  man's 
creation,  pale  and  shrivel  into  nothingness.  In  life,  in  a 
word,  an  ideal,  in  so  far  as  it  is  satisfying,  in  so  far  as  it 
is  reverenced  in  itself,  in  so  far  as  it  diverts  the  mind 
from  the  continued  study  of  the  reality,  is  vicious. 

Having  thus  caught  a  glimpse,  not  only  into  the  spirit 
and  tendency  of  Plato's  doctrine,  and  its  essential  hos- 
tility to  the  plastic  spirit  animating  the  Greek  culture,  but 
also  into  its  sweetly  seductive  power,  and  its  tenacious 
hold  upon  man,  we  need  not  wonder  at  the  marked  and 
long-continued  decadence  that  immediately  ensued.  With 
Aristotle,  Plato's  disciple,  and  his  delusive  blending  of 
the  Platonic  spirit  and  the  plastic  tendency  in  the  power 
of  logic,  this  growing  bond  with  nature  was  finally  and 
effectually  broken,  and  the  light  which  had  been  the 
source  of  this  illumination  was  extinguished.* 

*  Other  powerful  forces,  social,  political,  and  material,  doubt- 
less contributed  to  this  end :  but  obviously,  within  the  Umita- 
tions  of  a  single  chapter,  we  can  merely  touch  upon  outlines, 
and  these  only  of  the  intellectual  forces.  Throughout,  what  we 
have  not  said,  but  which  ought  to  be  said,  would  indeed  fill  vol- 
umes :  and  we  trust  that  the  reader  will  regard  our  work  merely 
as  a  thread  of  suggestion,  perliaps,  in  this  respect,  helpful  in  his 
own  independent  and  profitable  study  of  the  theme. 


386  FRANCIS    BACON 

What  followed  Plato  is  thus  pointedly  outlined  by  Pro- 
fessor Jowett,  in  the  last  edition  (1892)  of  his  admirable 
Translation  of  Plato's  Dialogues^  from  which  the  fore- 
going extracts  were  quoted : 

"  The  dreary  waste  which  follows,  beginning  with  the 
Alexandrian  writers  and  even  before  them  in  the  plati- 
tudes of  Isocrates  and  his  school,  spreads  over  much  more 
than  a  thousand  years.  And  from  this  decline  the  Greek 
language  and  literature,  unlike  the  Latin,  which  has  come 
to  life  in  new  forms  and  been  developed  into  the  great 
European  languages,  never  recovered.  This  monotony  of 
literature,  without  merit,  without  genius,  and  without  char- 
acter, is  ^  jjlienomenon  which  deserves  more  attention  than 
it  has  hitherto  received  ;  it  is  a  phenomenon  unique  in  the 
history  of  the  world.  How  could  there  have  been  so  much 
cultivation,  so  much  diligence  in  writing,  and  so  little 
mind  or  real  creative  power  ?  Why  did  a  thousand  years 
invent  nothing  better  than  Sibylline  books,  Orphic  poems, 
Byzantine  imitations  of  classical  histories.  Christian  repro- 
ductions of  Greek  plays,  novels  like  the  silly  and  obscene 
romances  of  Longus  and  Heliodorus,  innumerable  forged 
epistles,  a  great  many  epigrams,  biographies  of  the  meanest 
and  most  meagre  description,  a  sham  philosophy  which  was 
the  bastard  progeny  of  the  union  between  Hellas  and  the 
East?  Only  in  Plutarch,  in  Lucian,  in  Longinus,  in  the 
Roman  emperors  Marcus  Aurelius  and  Julian,  in  some  of 
the  Christian  fathers,  are  there  any  traces  of  good  sense 
or  originality,  or  any  power  of  arousing  the  interest  of 
later  ages.  And  when  new  books  ceased  to  be  written, 
why  did  hosts  of  grammarians  and  interpreters  flock  in, 
who  never  attain  to  any  sound  notion  either  of  grammar 
or  interpretation  ?  Why  did  the  physical  sciences  never 
arrive  at  any  true  knowledge  or  make  any  real  progress  ? 
Why  did^poetry  droop  and  languish?  Why  did  history 
degenerate  into  fable  ?  Why  did  words  lose  their  power 
of  expression  ?  Why  were  ages  of  external  greatness  and 
magnificence  attended  by  all  the  signs  of  decay  in  the 
human  mind  which  are  possible  ? 


AMD    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  387 

"  To  these  questions  many  answers  may  be  given,  which 
if  not  the  true  causes  are  at  least  recorded  among  the 
symptoms  of  decline."  * 

But  though  he  discusses  a  variety  of  matters,  they  are, 
as  he  frankly  states,  rather  the  "  symptoms  "  than  the 
causes :  and  singularly  enough,  possibly  because  he  was 
so  imbued  with  the  Platonic  spirit,  he  fails  to  even  touch 
upon  the  root  of  the  difficulty. 

*  The  mind,  like  the  body,  subsists  upon  nutriment,  neither 
can  it  evolve  this  nutriment  from  within  itself.  And,  obviously, 
when  its  hold  upon  the  exterior  sources  of  supply  is  weakened, 
its  growth  will  be  stunted,  and  "  decay "  will  follow.  Or  as 
Goethe  puts  it : 

"  Just  so  with  the  poet ; — he  deserves  not  the  name  while  he 
only  speaks  out  of  his  few  subjective  feelings ;  but  as  soon  as 
he  can  appropriate  to  himself  and  express  the  world,  he  is  a 
poet.  Then  he  is  inexhaustible,  and  can  be  always  new,  while 
a  subjective  nature  has  soon  talked  out  his  little  internal  mate- 
rial, and  is  at  last  ruined  by  mannerism.  ...  I  will  now  tell 
you  something  which  you  will  often  find  in  your  experience. 
All  eras  in  a  state  of  decline  and  dissolution  are  subjective ;  on 
the  other  hand,  all  progressive  eras  have  an  objective  tendency. 
Our  present  time  is  retrograde,  for  it  is  subjective :  we  see  this 
not  merely  in  poetiy,  but  also  in  painting,  and  much  besides. 
Every  healthy  effort,  on  the  contrary,  is  directed  from  the  in- 
ward to  the  outward  world,  as  you  will  see  in  all  great  eras, 
which  have  been  really  in  a  state  of  progression,  and  all  of  an 
objective  nature." 

Again,  referring  to  himself  :  "  I  have  never  observed  nature 
with  a  view  to  poetical  production  ;  but  because  my  early  draw- 
ing of  landscapes  and  my  later  studies  in  natural  science  led 
me  to  a  constant,  close  observation  of  natural  objects,  I  have 
gradually  learned  nature  by  heart,  even  to  the  minutest  details, 
so  that,  when  I  need  anything  as  a  poet,  it  is  at  my  command ; 
and  I  cannot  easily  sin  against  truth." 

And  again,  in  criticism  of  a  certain  poem :  "^I  also  think  the 
])()om  a  very  weak  production.  It  bears  no  traces  of  external 
observation ;  it  is  wholly  mental,  and  that  is  not  in  the  right 
luai/." — Conversations  with  Eckermann, 


388  FRANCIS    BACON 

^  But  three  centuries  ago,  there  was  one  mind  that  thor- 
oughly grasped  the  situation.  Francis  Bacon,  in  the  very 
midst  of  this  waste  and  in  its  darkness,  discerned,  first, 
and  perhaps  foremost,  that  it  icas  a  waste  ;  second,  its 
cause ;  and  third,  the  remedy.  All  this,  which  appears  in 
detail  in  his  works,  is  concisely  indicated  in  the  opening 
sentence  of  his  Great  Instauration  : 

''Francis  of  VERULAN  reasoned  thus  with  him- 
self^ and  judged  it  to  he  for  the  Interest  of  the  present  and 
future  generations  that  they  shoidd  he  made  acquainted 
with  his  thoughts : 

"  Being  convinced  that  the  human  intellect  makes  its 
own  difficulties,  not  using  the  true  helps  which  are  at 
man's  disposal  soberly  and  judiciously ;  whence  follows 
manifold  ignorance  of  things,  and  by  reason  of  that  ignor- 
ance mischiefs  innumerable ;  he  thought  all  trial  should 
be  made,  whether  that  commerce  between  the  mind  of 
man  and  the  nature  of  things,  which  is  more  precious  than 
anything  on  earth,  or  at  least  than  anything  that  is  of  the 
earth,  might  by  any  means  be  restored  to  its  perfect  and 
original  condition,  or  if  that  may  not  be,  yet  reduced  to  a 
better  condition  than  that  in  which  it  now  is." 

This  great  Thought,  of  the  inestimable  preciousness  to 
man  of  this  bond  with  nature  in  an  intercourse  of  rightful 
intimacy,  of  the  innumerable  mischiefs  wrought  through 
his  abnormal  divorcement,  and  of  the  countless  blessings 
that  would  follow  its  restoration,  was  the  inspiring  theme 
of  his  work,  whose  purpose  was  to  effect  this  restoration. 
And  later,  in  a  glow  of  enthusiasm,  awakened  by  the  gran- 
deur of  the  thought,  he  sings  the  new  song  of  this  reunion, 
in  these  eloquent  words : 

"  The  explanation  of  which  things,  and  of  the  true  rela- 
tion between  the  nature  of  things  and  the  nature  of  the 
inind,  is  as  the  strewing  and  decoration  of  the  bridal  cham- 
ber of  the  Mind  and  the  Universe,  the  Divine  Goodness 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  389 

assisting ;  out  of  which  marriage  let  us  hope  (and  be  tliis 
the  prayer  of  the  bridal  song)  there  may  spring  helps  to 
man,  and  a  line  and  race  of  inventions  that  may  in  some 
degree  subdue  and  overcome  the  necessities  and  miseries 
of  humanity." 

Possessed  of  this  thought  when  he  was  but  a  youth,  he 
then  devoted  himself,  single-handed  and  alone,  "  not  even 
communicating  my  thoughts  to  a  single  individual,"  to  its 
development  and  imi)lantatiou  in  the  mind  and  heart  of 
mankind  ;  confident  that  he  would  thereby  turn  the  tide 
which  for  two  thousand  years  had  borne  the  race  through 
a  barren  waste,  and  set  it  irrevocably  towards  regions 
fruitful  in  blessings. 

He  therefore  besought  man  to  look  into  nature,  through 
his  senses,  and  in  an  humble  spirit : 

"  Wherein  if  I  have  made  any  progress,  the  way  has 
been  opened  to  me  by  no  other  means  than  the  true  and 
legitimate  humiliation  of  the  human  spirit.  For  all  those 
who  before  me  have  applied  themselves  to  the  invention 
of  arts  have  but  cast  a  glance  or  two  upon  facts  and  ex- 
amples and  experience,  and  straightway  proceeded,  as  if 
invention  were  nothing  more  than  an  exercise  of  thought, 
to  invoke  their  ov/n  spirits  to  give  them  oracles.  I,  on  the 
contrary,  dwelling  purely  and  constantly  among  the  facts 
of  nature,  withdraw  my  intellect  from  them  no  further 
than  may  suffice  to  let  the  images  and  rays  of  natural  ob- 
jects meet  in  a  point,  as  they  do  in  the  sense  of  vision  ; 
whence  it  follows  that  the  strength  and  excellency  of  the 
wit  has  but  little  to  do  in  the  matter." 

And  again  :  "  The  access  also  to  this  work  hath  been 
by  that  port  or  passage,  which  the  divine  Majesty  (who 
is  unchangeable  in  his  ways)  doth  infallibly  continue  and 
observe ;  that  is,  the  felicity  wherewith  he  hath  blessed 
an  humility  of  mind,  such  as  rather  laboreth  to  spell  and 
so  by  degrees  to  read  in  the  volume  of  his  creatures,  than 
to  solicit  and  urge  and,  as  it  were,  to  invocate  a  man's  own 
spirit  to  divine  and  give  oracles  unto  him.     For  as  in  the 


390  FRANCIS    EACON 

inquiry  of  divine  truth,  the  pride  of  man  hath  ever  in- 
clined to  leave  the  oracles  of  God's  word  and  to  vanish  in 
the  mixture  of  their  own  inventions ;  so  in  the  self-same 
manner,  in  the  inquisition  of  nature  they  have  ever  left  the 
oracles  of  God's  works,  and  adored  the  deceiving  and  de- 
formed imagery  which  the  unequal  mirrors  of  their  own 
minds  have  represented  unto  them.  Nay,  it  is  a  point  fit 
and  necessary  in  the  front  and  beginning  of  this  work, 
without  hesitation  or  reservation  to  be  professed,  that  it 
is  no  less  true  in  this  human  kingdom  of  knowledge  than 
in  God's  kingdom  of  heaven,  that  no  man  shall  enter  into 
it,  excei^t  he  become  first  as  a  little  child.'^ 

"  Again,  it  will  be  thought,  no  doubt,  that  the  goal  and 
mark  of  knowledge  which  I  myself  set  up  (the  very  point 
which  I  object  to  in  others)  is  not  the  true  or  the  best ; 
for  that  contemplatio?i  of  truth  is  a  thing  worthier  and 
loftier  than  all  utility  and  magnitude  of  works ;  and  that 
this  long  and  anxious  dwelling  with  experience  and  mat- 
ter and  the  flu(!tuations  of  individual  things,  drags  down 
the  mind  to  earth,  or  rather  sinks  it  to  a  very  Tartarus 
of  turmoil  and  confusion ;  removing  and  withdrawing  it 
from  the  serene  tranquility  of  abstract  wisdom,  a  condi- 
tion far  more  heavenly.  Now  to  this  I  readily  assent ; 
and  indeed  this  which  they  point  at  as  so  much  to  be  pre- 
ferred, is  the  very  thing  of  all  others  which  I  am  about. 
For  I  am  building  in  the  human  understanding  a  true 
model  of  the  world,  such  as  it  is  in  fact,  not  such  as  a 
man's  own  reason  would  have  it  to  be  ;  a  thing  which  can- 
not be  done  without  a  very  diligent  dissection  and  anat- 
omy of  the  world.  But  I  say  that  those  foolish  and  apish 
images  of  worlds,  v/hich  the  fancies  of  men  have  created 
in  philosophical  systems,  must  be  utterly  scattered  to  the 
winds.  Be  it  known  then  how  vast  a  difference  there  is 
(as  I  said  above)  between  the  Idols  of  the  human  mind 
and  the  Ideas  of  the  divine.  The  former  are  nothing  more 
than  arbitrary  abstractions ;  the  latter  are  the  creator's 
own  stamp  upon  creation,  impressed  and  defined  in  mat- 
ter by  true  and  exquisite  lines.    Truth  therefore  and  util- 


AND    HI8    SHAKESPEARE.  891 

ity  are  here  the  very  same  things :  and  works  themselves 
are  of  greater  vakae  as  pledges  of  trvtli  than  as  contribut- 
ing to  the  comforts  of  life."  * 

And  again  :  "  For  we  copy  the  sin  of  our  first  parents 
while  we  suffer  for  it.  They  wished  to  be  like  God,  but 
their  posterity  wish  to  be  even  greater.  For  we  create 
worlds,  we  direct  and  domineer  over  nature,  we  will  have 
it  that  all  things  are  as  in  our  folly  we  think  they  should 
be,  not  as  seems  fittest  to  the  Divine  wisdom,  or  as  they 
are  found  to  be  in  fact ;  and  I  know  not  whether  we  more 
distort  the  facts  of  nature  or  our  own  wits  ;  but  we  clearly 
impress  the  stamp  of  our  own  image  on  the  creatures  and 
works  of  God,  instead  of  carefully  examining  and  recog- 
nizing in  them  the  stamp  of  the  Creator  himself.  Where- 
fore our  dominion  over  creatures  is  a  second  time  forfeited, 
not  undeservedly  ;  and  whereas  after  the  fall  of  man  some 
power  of  resistance  of  creatures  was  still  left  to  him — the 
power  of  subduing  and  managing  them  by  true  and  solid 
arts — yet  this  too,  through  our  insolence,  and  because  we 
desire  to  be  like  God,  and  to  follow  the  dictates  of  our 
own  reason,  we  in  great  part  lose.  If,  therefore,  there  be 
any  humility  towards  the  Creator,  any  reverence  for  or 
disposition  to  magnify  His  works,  any  charity  for  man  and 
anxiety  to  relieve  his  sorrows  and  necessities,  any  love  of 

*  '*  But  it  is  manifest  that  Plato  in  his  opinion  of  Ideas,  as 
one  that  had  a  wit  of  elevation  situate  as  upon  a  cliff,  did  descry 
that  forms  were  the  true  object  of  knoivledge ;  but  lost  the  real 
fruit  of  his  opinion  ;  by  considering  of  forms  as  abstracted  from 
mattei',  and  not  confined  and  determined  by  matter ;  and  so 
turning  his  opinion  upon  Theology,  wherewith  all  his  natural 
philosophy  is  infected." 

"  Again,  the  age  in  which  natural  philosophy  was  seen  to 
flourish  most  among  the  Greeks,  was  but  a  brief  particle  of 
time  ;  for  in  early  ages  the  seven  Wise  Men,  as  they  were  called, 
(all  except  Thales)  applied  themselves  to  morals  and  politics ; 
and  in  later  times,  when  Socrates  had  drawn  down  philosophy 
from  heaven  to  earth,  moral  philosophy  became  more  fashion- 
able than  ever,  and  diverted  the  minds  of  men  from  the  phil- 
osophy of  nature." 


392  FRANCIS   BACON 

truth  in  nature,  any  hatred  of  darkness,  any  desire  for  the 
purification  of  the  understanding,  we  must  entreat  men 
again  and  again  to  discard,  or  at  least  set  apart  for  a  while, 
these  volatile  and  preposterous  philosophies,  which  have 
preferred  theses  to  hypotheses,  led  experience  captive,  and 
triumphed  over  the  works  of  God :  and  to  approach  with 
humility  and  veneration  to  unroll  the  volume  of  Creation, 
to  linger  and  meditate  therein,  and  with  minds  washed 
clean  from  opinions,  to  study  it  in  purity  and  integrity. 
For  this  is  that  sound  and  language  which  v/ent  forth  into 
all  lands,  and  did  not  incur  the  confusion  of  Babel  ;  this 
should  men  study  to  be  perfect  in,  and  becoming  again  as 
little  children,  condescend  to  take  the  alphabet  of  it  into 
their  hands,  and  spare  no  pains  to  search  and  unravel  the 
interpretation  thereof,  but  pursue  it  strenuously  and  per- 
severe even  unto  death." 

Behold  the  sharp  contrast  and  the  essential  antagonism 
between  the  Platonic  and  the  Baconian  spirit,  —  and  by 
their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them ! 

Bacon,  also,  with  comprehensive  wisdom,  warned  man- 
kind against  the  errors  to  which  the  senses  are  liable,  and 
also  against  the  subtle  infirmities  to  which  the  mind  itself 
is  subject ;  providing  for  these  defects  safeguards  and 
efficient  remedies.  He  exposed  the  weakness  of  Logic, 
in  that  it  "  is  not  nearly  subtle  enough  to  deal  with  na- 
ture ": 

"  The  syllogism  consists  of  propositions  ;  propositions 
of  words ;  and  words  are  the  tokens  and  signs  of  notions. 
Now  if  the  very  notions  of  the  mind  (which  are  the  soul 
of  words  and  the  basis  of  the  whole  structure)  be  improp- 
erly and  over-hastily  abstracted  from  facts,  vague,  not 
sufficiently  definite,  faulty  in  short  in  many  ways,  the 
whole  edifice  tumbles.  I  therefore  reject  the  syllogism  ; 
and  that  not  only  as  regards  principles  (for  to  principles 
the  logicians  themselves  do  not  apply  it)  but  also  as  re- 
gards middle  propositions ;  which,  though  obtainable  no 
doubt  by  the  syllogism,  are,  when  so  obtained,  barren  of 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  393 

works,  remote  from  practice,  and  altogether  unavailable 
for  the  active  department  of  the  sciences." 

And  for  Logic  he  substituted  his  "  Interpretation  of 
Nature  "  by  orderly  Induction ;  unfolding  at  length  both 
its  spirit  and  its  method  in  his  Noviun  Orgaiuim,  to  which 
the  reader  is  referred.     Regarding  its  purpose : 

"  For  I  consider  induction  to  be  that  form  of  demon- 
stration which  upholds  the  sense,  and  closes  with  nature, 
and  comes  to  the  very  brink  of  operation,  if  it  does  not 
actually  deal  with  it.  .  .  .  Now  my  plan  is  to  proceed 
regularly  and  gradually  from  one  axiom  to  another,  so  that 
the  most  general  are  not  reached  till  the  last :  but  then, 
when  you  do  come  to  them,  you  find  them  to  be  not  empty 
notions,  but  well  defined,  and  such  as  nature  would  really 
recognize  as  her  first  principles,  and  such  as  lie  at  the 
heart  and  marrow  of  things.  .  .  .  For  the  induction  of 
which  the  logicians  speak,  which  proceeds  by  simple  enu- 
meration, is  a  puerile  thing ;  concludes  at  hazard  ;  is 
always  liable  to  be  upset  by  a  contradictory  instance ; 
takes  into  account  only  what  is  known  and  ordinary  ;  and 
leads  to  no  result.  Now  what  the  sciences  stand  in  need 
of  is  a  form  of  induction  which  shall  analyse  experience 
and  take  it  to  pieces,  and  by  a  due  process  of  exclusion 
and  rejection  lead  to  an  inevitable  conclusion.  And  if 
that  ordinary  mode  of  judgment  practised  by  the  logicians 
was  so  laborious,  and  found  exercise  for  such  great  wits, 
how  much  more  labor  must  we  prepare  to  bestow  upon 
this  other,  which  is  extracted  not  merely  out  of  the  depths 
of  the  mind,  but  out  of  the  very  bowels  of  nature.  .  .  . 
And  lastly,  the  information  of  the  sense  itself  I  sift  and 
examine  in  many  ways.  For  certain  it  is  that  the  senses 
deceive  ;  but  then,  at  the  same  time,  they  supply  the  means 
of  discovering  their  own  errors ;  only  the  eri'ors  are  here, 
the  means  of  discovery  are  to  seek.  ... 

"  To  meet  these  difficulties,  I  have  sought  on  all  sides 
diligently  and  faithfully  to  provide  helps  for  the  sense  — 
substitutes  to  supply  its  failures,  rectifications  to  correct 


394  FRANCIS    BACON 

its  firrors  ;  and  this  I  endeuvor  to  accomplish  not  so  much 
by  instruments  as  by  experiments.  For  the  subtlety  of 
experiments  is  far  greater  than  that  of  the  sense  itself, 
even  when  assisted  by  exquisite  instruments  ;  such  experi- 
ments, 1  mean,  as  are  skilfully  and  artificially  devised  for 
the  express  purpose  of  determining  the  point  in  question. 
To  the  immediate  and  proper  perception  of  the  sense  there- 
fore I  do  not  give  much  w^eight ;  but  I  contrive  that  the 
office  of  the  sense  shall  be  only  to  judge  of  the  experi- 
ment, and  that  the  experiment  itself  shall  judge  of  the 
thing.  And,  thus  I  conceive  that  I  perform  the  office  of 
a  true  priest  of  the  sense  (from  which  all  knowledge  in 
nature  must  be  sought,  unless  men  mean  to  go  mad)  and 
a  not  unskilful  interpreter  of  its  oracles  ;  and  that  while 
others  only  profess  to  uphold  and  cultivate  the  sense,  I  do 
so  in  fact.  Such  then  are  the  provisions  I  make  for  find- 
ing the  genuine  light  of  nature  and  kindling  and  bringing 
it  to  bear." 

And  finally,  he  put  this  Induction  to  a  crucial  test,  in 
the  discovery  of  the  then  unknown  nature  of  Heat.  A  dis- 
covery so  true,  so  far  in  advance  of  his  age,  that  it  has 
given  rise  to  one  of  the  profound  misconceptions  regard- 
ing Bacon,  which  this  generation  has  inherited. 

Some  of  us  doubtless  remember  studying  in  our  youth 
Professor  Comstock's  Natural  Philosophy^  where  v/e  were 
taught,  that  "  Heat  is  an  imponderable  substance  called 
caloric."  And  while  the  scientific  world  was  under  the 
sway  of  such  a  philosophy.  Bacon's  conclusion  could  only 
be  regarded  as  visionary  and  preposterous.  Whewell,  in 
his  Philosophy  of  the  Inductive  Sciences^  says : 

"  But  we  cannot  be  surprised,  that  in  attempting  to 
exemplify  the  method  which  he  recommended,  he  should 
have  failed.  For  the  method  could  be  exemplified  only 
by  some  important  discoveiy  in  physical  science ;  and 
great  discoveries,  even  with  the  most  perfect  methods,  do 
not  come  at  command.   .   .   .  Accordingly,  Bacon's  Inqui- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  395 

sition  into  the  nature  of  Heat,  which  is  given  in  the  Sec- 
ond Book  of  the  Novum  Organum  as  an  example  of  the 
mode  of  interrogating  natnre,  cannot  be  looked  upon  other- 
wise than  as  a  complete  failure." 

Devey  and  Spedding,  editors  of  Bacon's  works,  take  the 
same  viev/.  And  as  late  as  1886,  Richard  A.  Proctor, 
the  eminent  astronomer,  accepting  the  traditional  opinion, 
in  a  letter  published  in  the  Arena  of  Nov.,  1893,  speaks 
of  Bacon  as  "  failing  egregriously  in  his  attempt  on  the 
sole  detail  to  which  he  applied  his  own  method." 

But  was  it  an  egregious  failure  ?  Turning  to  his  Novum 
Organum,  we  find  that  Bacon,  at  the  end  of  his  orderly 
Induction,  arrives  at  this  conclusion : 

"  From  a  survey  of  the  instances,  all  and  each,  the  na- 
ture of  which  heat  is  a  particular  case  appears  to  be  Mo- 
tion. .  .  .  When  I  say  of  Motion  that  it  is  the  genus  of 
which  heat  is  a  species,  I  would  be  understood  to  mean, 
not  that  heat  generates  motion  or  that  motion  generates 
heat  (though  both  are  true  in  certain  cases),  but  that  Heat 
itself,  its  essence  and  quiddity,  is  Motion  and  nothing 
else.  .  .  . 

"  Heat  is  an  expansive  motion,  whereby  a  body  strives 
to  dilate  and  stretch  itself  to  a  larger  sphere  or  dimension 
than  it  had  previously  occupied  .  .  .  that  heat  is  a  motion 
of  expansion,  not  uniformly  of  the  v/hole  body  together, 
but  in  the  smaller  parts  of  it ;  and  at  the  same  time 
checked,  repelled,  and  beaten  back,  so  that  the  body  ac- 
quires a  motion  alternative,  perpetually  quivering,  striv- 
ing and  struggling,  and  irritated  by  repercussion,  whence 
springs  the  fury  of  fire  and  heat.   .   .   . 

"  Now  from  this  our  First  Vintage  it  follows  that  the 
Form  or  true  definition  of  heat  (heat,  that  is,  in  relation 
to  the  universe,  not  simply  in  its  relation  to  man)  is,  in  few 
words,  as  follows  :  Heat  is  a  motioti,  exjxmsive,  restrained, 
and  acting  in  its  strife  upon  the  smaller  particles  of 
bodies^     (Bacon's  italics.) 

Professor  George  F.  Barker,  of  the  University  of  Penn- 


896  FRANCIS    J'.ACON 

sylvania,  in  his  able  work  on  Physics,  recently  published, 
states  the  present  view  of  the  nature  of  heat  in  these  words  : 

"  Heat  the  Energy  of  Molecular  Motion.  —  Is  heat- 
energy  in  the  kinetic  or  in  the  potential  form  ?  Davy  said 
in  1812  :  '  The  immediate  cause  of  the  phenomenon  of  heat, 
then,  is  motion,  and  the  laws  of  its  communication  are  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  the  laws  of  the  communication  of  motion.' 
This  in  modern  language  is  equivalent  to  the  statement 
that  heat  is  kinetic  eiiergy  ;  not  evidently  of  the  mass, 
since  the  hot  body  may  be  at  rest ;  but  of  the  molecules. 
We  know  that  one  of  the  ways  in  which  a  hot  body  cools 
is  by  transferring  its  energy  to  another  and  a  colder  body 
not  in  contact  with  it ;  and  we  shall  study  later  the  mechan- 
ism of  this  radiating  process.  One  thing  about  it  is  cer- 
tain, however,  and  that  is  that  it  consists  in  a  motion  of 
the  intervening  medium.  The  hot  body  communicates 
motion  to  the  medium,  and  the  cold  body  receives  motion 
from  this  medium.  We  conclude,  therefore,  that  the  sur- 
face of  a  hot  body  must  be  in  motion  ;  and  because  radi- 
ation may  take  place  as  well  from  the  interior  of  a  body 
as  from  its  exterior,  we  also  conclude  that  the  body  must 
be  in  motion  throughout  its  entire  mass.  This  view  of  the 
case  is  in  entire  accord  with  the  kinetic  theory  of  matter 
already  discussed,  which  supposes  the  m.olecules  of  matter 
to  be  actively  in  motion.  The  motion  to  which  heat-energy 
is  due  '  must  therefore  be  a  motion  of  parts  too  small  to 
be  observed  separately ;  the  motions  of  different  parts  at 
the  same  instant  must  be  in  different  directions ;  and  the 
motion  of  any  one  part  must,  at  least  in  solid  bodies,  be 
such  that  however  fast  it  moves  it  never  reaches  a  sensible 
distance  from  the  point  from  which  it  started  '  (Max- 
well)." 

As  we  carefully  compare  the  foregoing  statements,  we 
can  hardly  realize  that  the  one  is  a  conclusion  put  forth 
three  centuries  ago,  when  there  were  comparatively  no 
science  or  scientific  instruments,  and  wrought  out  from 
the  necessarily  crude  observations  of  the  unaided  senses  ; 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  397 

and  that  the  other  is  the  expression  of  the  latest  conclu- 
sion of  science,  the  product  of  a  century  of  special  research, 
conducted  with  the  most  delicate  instruments,  and  by  the 
brightest  men  of  the  time. 

Indeed,  Bacon's  achievement  is  so  extraordinary,  that 
we  are  tempted  to  do  an  injustice  to  his  Induction,  and  to 
ascribe  his  success  to  his  insight  "  into  the  heart  and  mar- 
row of  things,"  in  this  intimacy  with  nature  which  to  him 
was  so  precious,  in  the  comprehension  of  her  voice. 

And  this  inclination  is  encouraged  by  some  of  his  ob- 
servations, which  exhibit  a  perception  almost  intuitive  in 
its  penetration.  Thus  regarding  gravity  :  While  he  some- 
times spoke  of  the  motion  of  things  towards  the  centre  of 
the  earth,  "  which  was  the  opinion  of  the  ancients,"  in  its 
serious  consideration,  he  says  : 

"  Inquire  what  is  the  line  and  direction  of  the  motion 
of  gravity ;  how  far  it  follows  the  centre  or  mass  of  the 
earth,  how  far  the  centre  of  the  body  itself,  that  is  the 
strife  and  pressure  of  its  parts.  For  these  centres,  though 
convenient  for  demonstration,  are  of  no  effect  in  nature." 
And  again :  "  For  as  for  what  is  said  of  motion  to  the 
earth's  centre,  it  would  indeed  be  a  potent  kind  of  Noth- 
ing that  should  draw  such  great  things  to  it ;  nor  is  body 
acted  upon,  except  by  body." 

And  again,  he  says  :  "  For  whoever  shall  set  aside  the 
imaginarj?^  divorce  between  superlunary  and  sublunary 
things,  and  shall  well  observe  the  most  universal  appetites 
and  passions  of  matter  (which  are  powerful  in  both  globes 
and  make  themselves  felt  through  the  universal  frame  of 
things),  will  obtain  clear  information  of  heavenly  things 
from  those  that  are  seen  amongst  us."  And  again  :  "  For 
these  supposed  divorces  between  ethereal  and  sublunary 
things  seem  to  me  but  figments,  superstitions  mixed  with 
rashness  ;  seeing  it  is  most  certain  that  very  many  effects, 
as  of  expansion,  contraction,  impression,  cession,  collec- 
tion into  masses,  attraction,  repulsion,  assimilation,  union, 


398  FRANCIS    BACON 

and  the  like,  Lave  place  not  only  here  with  us,  but  also 
in  the  heights  of  heaven  and  the  depths  of  the  earth." 

A  general  proposition  which  has  since  become  one  of 
the  fundamental  recognitions  of  modern  science,  not  only 
regarding  gravity,  but  as  to  all  the  other  properties  of 
matter.* 

*  "  And  yet  this  is  not  more  certain  than  that  the  bodies  of 
both  globes  have  common  inclinations,  passions,  and  motions. 
We  should  therefore  follow  the  tmity  of  nature,  and  rather  dis- 
tinguish than  sever  such  things  and  not  make  a  breach  in  the 
contemplation  of  them.  .  .  .  And  these  things  I  have  spoken 
not  out  of  zeal  to  introduce  a  new  opinion,  but  because  I  foresee, 
not  without  experience,  but  instructed  by  example,  that  these 
fabulous  divorces  and  distinctions  of  things  and  regions,  beyond 
what  truth  admits  of,  will  be  a  great  obstacle  to  true  philosophy 
and  the  contemplation  of  nature." 

We  may  profitably  compare  the  foregoing  with  the  following 
concise  statement  of  our  present  advancement,  by  Professor  John 
Fiske : 

"  In  these  latter  days,  since  the  law  of  gravitation  has  been 
extended  to  the  sidereal  heavens,  and  spectrum  analysis  has  begun 
to  deal  with  nebulee,  there  is  abundant  proof  that  pi'operties  of 
matter  and  processes  with  which  we  are  familiar  on  this  earth 
are  to  be  found  in  some  of  the  remotest  bodies  which  the  tele- 
scope can  reach,  and  it  is  thus  forcibly  impressed  upon  us  that 
all  are  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole." 

It  is  true,  there  are  many  crudities  found  in  Bacon's  works : 
but  they  arose  out  of  the  old  scholastic  philosophy  from  which 
he  emerged.  And  obviously,  the  just  and  fair  judgment  of  his 
work  is  to  formed  by  regarding  it  from  the  standpoint  of  what 
preceded  him,  though  under  the  illumination  afforded  by  our 
present  knowledge.  Thus,  he  has  been  criticised  for  his  use 
of  "  Forms  ";  when,  in  fact,  he  took  the  old,  empty,  scholastic 
formula,  "  of  the  Forms  of  things,"  and  infused  life  into  it  by 
his  definition : 

"  And  even  in  the  case  of  simj)le  natures  I  would  not  be  un- 
derstood to  s])eak  of  abstract  forms  and  itleas,  cither  not  defined 
in  matter  at  all,  or  ill  defined.     For  when  I  speak  of  forms  I 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  399 

Again,  one  of  the  most  vital  and  fruitful  conceptions 
ot  modern  science  is  that  matter  is  not  a  dead,  inert  thing, 
but  is  itself  the  seat  of  energy,  in  intense  activity.  But 
this  was  with  Bacon  a  fundamental  perception,  strongly 
urged.     In  his  Principles  and  Origins,  he  says : 

"  Now  an  abstract  principle  is  not  a  being ;  and  again, 
a  mortal  being  is  not  a  principle ;  so  that  a  necessity 
plainly  inevitable  drives  men's  thoughts  (if  they  would  be 
consistent)  to  the  atom;  which  is  a  true  being,  having 
matter,  form,  dimension,  place,  resistance,  appetite,  mo- 
tion, and  emanations ;  which  likewise,  amid  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  natural  bodies,  remains  unshaken  and  eternal." 
Again :  "  Notwithstanding  in  the  body  of  the  atom  are 
the  elements  of  all  bodies,  and  in  the  motion  and  virtue 
of  the  atom  are  the  beginnings  of  all  motions  and  virtues." 
He  accordingly  criticises  Telesius  for  couj)ling  with  the 
idea  of  the  constant  quantity  of  matter  that  it  is  inert  and 
passive:  "Now  in  these  assertions  there  is  a  great  men- 
tal error, — an  error  truly  v/onderful,  were  it  not  that  con- 
sent and  common  and  inveterate  opinion  take  away  the  won- 
der. For  there  is  scarce  any  error  comparable  to  that  of 
taking  this  virtue  implanted  in  matter  (by  which  it  saves 
itself  from  destruction,  insomuch  that  not  the  smallest 
portion  of  matter  can  either  be  overpowered  by  the  whole 
mass  of  the  world,  or  destroyed  by  the  force  and  power 
of  all  agents  together,  or  in  any  way  so  annihilated  and 
reduced  to  order,  but  that  it  both  occupies  some  space, 
and  maintains  a  resistance  with  irnpenetra'ble  dimensions, 
and  itself  attempts  something  in  its  turn,  and  never  de- 
serts itself)  not  to  be  an  active  virtue  ;  whereas,  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  of  all  virtues  far  the  most  powerful,  and 

mean  nothing  more  than  those  laws  and  determinations  of  abso- 
kite  actuality,  which  govern  and  constitute  any  simple  nature, 
as  heat,  light,  weight,  in  every  kind  of  matter  and  subject  that 
is  susceptible  of  them.  Thus  the  Form  of  Heat  or  the  Form  of 
I.ight  is  the  same  thing  as  the  Law  of  Heat  or  the  Law  of 
Light." — Novum  Orgamim. 


400  FRANCIS    BACO.N 

plainly  insuperable,  and  as  it  were  mere  fate  and  neces- 
sity." 

Moreover,  there  is  here  an  acceptance  of  the  principle 
of  the  Conservation  of  Matter,  and  its  statement  in  terms 
that  touch  to  the  quick  its  occasion.  And  elsewhere,  he 
says:  "The  sura  of  matter  in  the  universe  is  always  the 
same ;  and  there  is  no  operation  either  from  nothing  or 
to  nothing." 

Professor  Barker,  in  his  Physics^  following  the  recog- 
nized authorities,  (for  who  has  cared  to  study  at  first  hand 
Bacon's  works  ? — while  all  seem  unaware  of  their  wonder- 
fully quickening  power),  states  the  present  view  of  scien- 
tific men  as  follows  : 

"  The  close  of  the  last  century  was  made  memorable  in 
science  by  the  discovery  of  the  illustrious  Lavoisier  that 
matter  is  indestructible  by  human  agency ;  and  that  conse- 
quently the  amount  of  matter  in  the  universe  is  constant." 
And  as  to  its  importance:  "  As  the  result  of  modern  inves- 
tigation, it  is  believed  that  matter  is  absolutely  unalterable 
in  quantity  by  any  agency  at  the  command  of  man.  This 
great  principle,  which  has  been  called  the  law  of  the  Con- 
servation of  Matter,  lies  at  the  basis  of  chemistry  and 
demands  absolute  equality  in  mass  on  the  two  sides  of  all 
chemical  equations."  * 

*  "  V.  That  the  Qnantitij  ofMaMer  is  fixed,  and  that  Change 
takes  place  without  Loss.  —  That  all  things  are  changed,  and 
that  nothing  really  perishes,  and  that  the  sum  of  matter  remains 
exactly  the  same,  is  sufficiently  certain.  And  as  it  needed  the 
omnipotence  of  God  to  create  something  out  of  nothing,  so  it 
requires  the  same  omnipotence  to  reduce  something  to  nothing. 
.  .  .  From  these  positions  therefore  I  have  now  thought  good 
to  draw  three  precepts  or  counsels  for  use,  in  ovder  that  men 
may  deal  with  nature  more  skilfully,  and  by  that  means  more 
successfully.  Of  these  the  first  is,  that  men  should  frequently 
call  upon  nature  to  render  her  account ;  that  is,  when  they  per- 
ceive that  a  body  which  was  before  manifest  to  the  sense  has 
escaped  and  disappeared,  they  should  not  admit  or  liquidate 


AND   niS   SHAKESPEARE.  401 

And  in  tlie  same  connection,  Bacon  gives  clear  stato- 
raent  to  a  principle  of  profound  interest  to-day : 

"  For  the  summary  law  of  being  and  nature,  which  pen^ 
etrates  and  runs  through  the  vicissitudes  of  things  (the 
same  which  is  described  in  the  phrase,  'the  work  which 
God  v/orketh  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  '},  that  is,  the 
force  [in  the  Latin,  tv's,  which  would  now  be  translated 
"  energy  "]  implanted  by  God  in  these  first  particles,  from 
the  multiplication  whereof  all  the  variety  of  things  pro- 
ceeds and  is  made  up,  is  a  thing  which  the  thoughts  of 
man  may  offer  at  but  can  hardly  take  in.  .  .  .  But  in  the 
meantime  I  make  this  assumption ;  that  the  ancients  set 
down  the  first  matter  (such  as  may  be  the  beginning  of 
things),  as  having  form  and  qualities,  not  as  abstract, 
potential,  and  unshapen.  And  certainly  that  despoiled 
and  passive  matter  seems  altogether  a  fiction  of  the  human 
mind.  .  .  .  But  almost  all  the  ancients,  as  Epedocles, 
Anaxagoras,  Anaximenes,  Heraclitus,  and  Democritus, 
though  in  other  respects  they  differed  about  the  first  mat- 
ter, agreed  in  this,  that  they  set  down  matter  as  active, 
as  having  some  form,  as  dispensing  that  form,  and  as 
having  the  p^nnciple  of  motion  in  itself.  Nor  can  anyone 
think  otherwise,  unless  he  plainly  deserts  experience. 
Therefore  all  these  submitted  their  minds  to  the  nature  of 
things.  Whereas  Plato  made  over  the  world  to  thoughts ; 
and  Aristotle  made  over  thoughts  to  words ;  men's  studies 
even  then  tending  to  dispute  and  discourse,  and  forsak- 
ing the  stricter  inquiry  of  truth.  Hence  such  opinions 
are  rather  to  be  condemned  in  the  whole,  than  confuted 
separately  in  the  parts  ;  for  they  are  the  opinions  of  those 
who  wish  to  talk  much,  and  know  little.  And  this  abstract 
matter  is  the  matter  of  disputation,  not  of  the  universe. 
But  one  who  philosophises  rightly  and  in  order,  should 
dissect  nature  and  not  abstract  her  (but  they  who  will 

the  account  before  it  has  been  shown  them  where  the  body  has 
gone  to,  and  into  what  it  has  been  received." — Thoughts  on  the 
Nature  of  Things. 

2G 


402  FRANCIS    BACON 

not  dissect  are  obliged  to  abstract);  and  must  by  all  means 
consider  the  first  matter  as  united  to  the  first  form,  and 
likewise  to  the  first  principle  of  motion,  as  it  is  found. 
For  the  ahstraction  of  motion  also  has  begotten  an  infi- 
nite number  of  fancies  about  souls,  lives,  and  the  like  ;  as 
if  these  were  not  satisfied  by  matter  and  form,  but  de- 
pended on  principles  of  their  own.  But  these  three  are 
by  no  means  to  be  separated,  only  distinguished ;  and 
matter  (ivhatever  it  is)  must  he  held  to  he  so  adorned^ 
furmshed^  and  formed,  that  all  virtue,  essence,  action, 
and  natural  motion,  may  he  the  consequence  and  emana- 
tion thereof'' 

Truly  a  mighty  evolution  —  wherein  all  physical  phe- 
nomena, in  their  almost  infinite  variety  and  complexity, 
are  but  developments  of  the  simple,  primal  forces  inherent 
in  matter !  * 

We  have  seen  (see  ante,  page  101)  how  Bacon's  extra- 
ordinary, but  normal,  intellectual  development  had  its 
"birth"  in  his  youthful  conviction  of  the  inestimable 
importance  of  the  renewal  of  this  bond  with  nature  and 
his  devotion  to  its  accomplishment.  It  brought  him  into 
such  intimate  sympathy  with  nature  that  his  powers  grew 
and  developed  in  a  vitality  and  vigor,  and  with  a  sound- 

*  "  Now  those  motions  are  to  be  chiefly  inquired,  which  are 
simple,  primitive,  and  fundamental,  whereof  the  rest  are  com- 
posed. For  it  is  most  certain  that  by  how  much  the  more  sim- 
ple motions  are  discovered,  by  so  much  will  the  power  of  man 
be  increased  and  made  independent  of  materials  special  and 
prepared,  and  strengthened  for  the  production  of  new  works. 
Surely  as  the  words  or  terms  of  all  languages,  in  an  immense 
variety,  are  composed  of  a  few  simple  letters,  so  all  the  actions 
and  powers  of  things  are  formed  by  a  few  natures  and  original 
elements  of  simjile  motions.  And  it  were  shame  that  men 
should  have  examined  so  carefully  the  tinklings  of  their  own 
voice,  and  yet  should  be  so  ignorant  of  the  voice  of  nature  ;  and 
as  in  the  early  ages  (before  letters  were  invented),  should  dis- 
cern only  compound  sounds  and  words,  not  distinguishing  the 
elements  and  letters." — Thoughts  on  the  Nature  of  Things. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  40M 

ness  of  sense,  only  possible  to  one  drawing  nourishment 
continually  from  her  inexhaustible  fount, — as  was  like- 
wise the  case  with  the  ancient  Greeks  ;  and  which  seems, 
indeed,  to  be  nature's  divinely  appointed  reward  for  this 
absolute  '  submission  of  the  mind  unto  things.' 

The  same  force  brought  him  into  a  like  sympathetic 
comprehension  of  humanity,  a  part  of  the  Creator's  uni- 
versal kingdom.  His  mastery  of  the  human  heart,  its 
motives,  its  passions,  its  affections,  and  its  springs  of  ac- 
tion, was  so  complete  that  we  ever  recognize,  instinctively, 
the  verity  of  his  utterances.  He  not  only  came  into  touch 
with  the  great  heart  of  humanity,  but  he  deeply  felt  the 
power  and  mystery  of  its  common  bond,  in  the  unity  of 
its  origin,  its  nature,  and  its  destiny.  This  is  shown,  inci- 
dentally, in  a  remark  in  his  Natural  History  : 

"The  delight  which  men  have  in  popularity,  fame, 
honor,  submission,  and  subjection  of  other  men's  minds, 
wills,  or  affections,  (although  these  things  may  be  desired 
for  other  ends)  seemeth  to  be  a  thing  in  itself,  without 
contemplation  of  consequence,  grateful  and  agreeable  to 
the  nature  of  man.  This  thing  (surely)  is  not  without 
some  signification,  as  if  all  sjiirlts  and  souls  of  men  came 
forth  out  of  one  divine  limhus  ;  else  why  should  men  be 
so  much  affected  with  that  which  others  think  or  say  ?  " 

And  again,  in  his  Novum  Organum :  "  The  Idols  of 
the  Tribe  have  their  foundation  in  human  nature  itself, 
and  in  the  tribe  or  race  of  men.  .  .  .  Such  then  are  the 
idols  which  I  call  Idols  of  the  Tribe;  and  which  take  their 
rise  either  from  the  homogeneity  of  the  substance  of  the 
human  spirit,  or  from  its  preoccupation,  or  from  its  nar- 
rowness, or  from  its  restless  motion,  or  from  an  infusion 
of  the  aft'ections,  or  from  the  incompetency  of  the  senses, 
or  from  the  mode  of  impression." 

This  profound  realization  of  the  common  bond  of  human- 
ity, wherein  we  all  partake  of  the  same  nature,  and  are  one 
in  origin  and  destiny,  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  sources 


404  FRANCIS    UACON 

of  Bacon's  univerRality,  in  his  interpretation  of  mankind, 
lucleed,  the  creative  artist  (whether  in  literature,  or  work- 
ing upon  canvas  or  stone)  must  bathe  in  these  deep  wa- 
ters, losing  his  own  petty  self-consciousness  in  the  broader, 
deeper  consciousness  of  the  race,  if  he  v/ould  adequately 
"voice"  nature  and  humanity  in  their  characteristic  uni- 
versality, informing  even  the  particularity  he  unfolds, — 
the  lofty,  but  rightful  standard  by  which  he  must  measure 
his  work. 

We  have  also  seen  how  the  "  plastic  "  spirit  penetrated 
all  the  higher  activities  of  the  Greeks,  animating  their  lit- 
erature and  their  art, — the  underlying  source  of  their  sur- 
passing excellence.  And  Bacon  also  carried  this  renovat- 
ing bond  with  nature,  with  its  vivifying  spirit,  into  liter- 
ature. 

He  thus  dignified  immeasurably  the  work  of  the  Histor- 
ian ;  elevating  him  to  the  side  of  the  poet,  as  a  revealer  and 
interpreter  of  mankind.  (See  ante^  page  123.)  And  he 
reinaugurated  in  practice  v/hat  is  just  beginning  to  be  rec- 
ognized as  the  rightful  function  of  the  historian — "  mak- 
ing history  a  living  expression  of  the  character  of  man, — 
a  continuous  revelation  of  the  laws  and  forces  of  life." 
(Mabie.) 

He  wrote  the  first  live  history  of  modern  times,  though 
he  was  dealing  with  an  uneventful  period ;  "nearer  to  the 
merits  of  Thucydides  than  any  English  history  that  I 
know,"  says  Spedding  ;  tracing  effects  to  their  causes,  and 
developing  the  action  out  of  the  workings  of  the  motives 
and  passions  of  the  human  heart,  as  they  were  brought  into 
play  by  the  circumstances;  so  that  we  are  enabled  to  "  learn 
tiie  secrets  of  human  nature  "  even  from  his  history, — 
another  "  object  lesson  "  of  profound  import  to  future  his- 
torians, who,  in  writing  the  records  of  his  life,  would  reveal 
man  unto  himself,  through  the  developments  of  his  past 
experience. 


A1\D    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  405 

And  in  the  Shakespeare,  he  thus  dignified  Poetry  itself  ; 
making  it  the  highest,  the  most  beautiful  and  complete 
objective  expression  and  revelation  of  nature  and  human- 
ity,— the  authentic  reflection  and  interpretation  of  univer- 
sal life.  Recognizing  the  inner  source  of  this  power,  we 
discern  that,  in  reality,  he  exalts  the  poet,  in  making  him 
'perform  the  office  of  a  true  priest  of  the  sense,  and  an 
interpreter  of  its  oracles.'  Gervinus,  with  comprehensive 
vision,  recognizes  this  fundamental  characteristic  of  the 
Poet,  and  gives  it  expression  in  these  significant  words : 

"  Shakespeare  was  a  sensualist  [in  the  German  sense  of 
"  plastic  "]  of  a  thoroughly  intuitive  nature.  He  v/as  per- 
haps even  more  than  Goethe,  '  devoted  to  the  holy  spirit  of 
the  senses,'  and  averse  to  one-sided  abstractions  and  phil- 
osophic speculations.  Nature  and  humanity  were  his  book 
of  revelation,  and  experience  the  source  of  his  wisdom. 
His  sense  must  have  been  the  soundest  that  ever  man 
possessed  ;  his  eye  a  smooth  mirror,  his  ear  an  echo,  which 
repeated  all  sounds  and  images  with  the  utmost  fidelity."  * 

*  See,  in  exemplification,  Perdita's  exquisite  handling  of  the 
Flowers,  ciMe,  page  147. 

In  this  connection,  a  further  remark  of  Charles  Waldstein  is 
very  significant,  especially  in  its  bearing  upon  the  lines  of  our 
future  cultivation,  —  for  "  observation  "  is  as  fundamental  and 
as  vital  to  art  (including  poetry )  as  to  science : 

"  We  are  bad  observers.  For  several  years  I  have  made  a 
point  of  inquiring  into  the  power  or  rather  feebleness  of  observ- 
ation of  people  I  meet,  and  it  was  strange  to  notice  the  effect 
when  their  attention  was  directed  to  this  side  of  their  nature. 
UnUke  the  M.  Jourdain  who  was  not  aware  of  a  power  which 
he  really  possessed,  they  are  astonished  to  find  that  they  aro 
hardly  possessed  of  a  faculty,  with  which  they  were  always  in 
the  habit  of  crediting  themselves.  With  a  view  to  testing  the 
above.  I  asked  one  who  was  present  while  I  was  writing  these 
lines  the  color  of  his  mother's  eyes.  He  informed  me  that  she 
was  dead.  '  But  do  n't  you  remember  it  ?  '  After  some  attempts 
he  found  he  could  not.     But  later  on  be  started  up  with, '  they 


406  FRANCIS    BACON 

And  Richard  Grant  White  says  :  "  One  of  them,  himself 
a  poet,  Pope,  passed  in  happy  phrase  one  of  the  most 
penetrative  judgments  that  has  ever  been  uttered  upon 
him,  when  he  said  :  '  The  poetry  of  Shakespeare  is  inspir- 
ation indeed.  He  is  not  so  much  an  imitator  as  an  instru- 
ment of  Nature  ;  and  it  is  not  so  just  to  say  that  he  speaks 
for  her,  as  that  she  speaks  through  him.'  " 

This  absolute  fidelity  to  "  the  voice  of  nature,"  heard 
and  focussed  through  the  senses,  is  the  foundation  princi- 
ple of  the  "  new  law  "  of  poetry  to  which  Gervinus  refers : 
though,  unfortunately,  he  is  compelled  to  remark,  that  while 
it  has  taken  two  centuries  to  understand  the  Poet,  "  but 
very  little  has  ever  been  executed  in  his  sense."  The 
secret  of  this  lamentable  paucity,  however,  is  enwrapped 
in  the  irrepressible  conflict  still  waging  between  the  Plat- 
tonic  and  the  Baconian  spirit. 

Plato  and  Bacon !  these  two  powerful  intellects  stand 
forth  in  lofty  grandeur,  as  the  self-consecrated  apostles  of 
two  mighty,  antagonistic  forces,  contending  for  suprem- 
acy over  the  world's  thought  and  activities.  In  the  domain 
of  physical  science,  the  issue  has  already  been  happily 
determined.  But  elsewhere,  plainl}^  the  conflict  is  still 
on :  though  even  now  its  final  glorious  outcome  can  be 
clearly  foreseen. 

We  have  heard  from  Goethe's  own  lips  (see  ante,  page 
349)  how  in  early  youth  he  caught  from  Bacon,  through 
the  medium  of  his  Shakespeare,  the  flame  of  the  inspira- 
tion which  thereafter  animated  his  whole  life's  work, — and 
we  all  know  the  result.  This  influence  was  received  through 
the  instinctive  comprehension  of  Bacon's  work  in  its  essen- 
tial principles,  and  through  the  touch  of  his  vivifying  spirit. 

And  if  we  rightly  estimate  the  forces  and  the  conditions 

were  blue.'  '  How  comes  it  that  you  know  now  and  did  not 
know  before  ?  '  I  asked.  '  Because  I  remembered  that  two  years 
ago  we  spoke  about  it.'  He  had  no  image  in  his  eye,  but  he 
remembered  the  words." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE,  407 

involved,  as  this  intimate  comprehension  of  his  work  be- 
comes more  general,  the  validity  and  the  universality  of 
his  principles  more  widely  acknowledged,  and  as  the  quick- 
ening power  of  his  spirit  is  more  deeply  felt,  and  its  inspir- 
ation more  generally  diffused.  Bacon's  influence,  in  its 
growing  predominance  over  the  Platonic  spirit,  is  destined 
ultimately  to  effect  a  revolution,  as  pronounced,  as  felic- 
itous, and  as  complete  and  enduring,  in  poetry,  in  litera- 
ture, in  art,  and  in  all  man's  higher  activities,  as  it  has 
wrought  in  the  past  in  physical  science.  For  it  concerns 
"  not  only  the  contemplative  happiness,  but  the  whole  for- 
tunes, and  affairs,  and  powers,  and  works  of  men." 


408  FiiAiNUiS   BACON 


CHAPTER  XIII.  — Continued. 

And  yet,  as  the  reader  has  doubtless  remarked,  there 
is  much  in  the  Shakespeare  that  transcends  the  reality. 
And  here  again,  we  recognize  the  thoroughly  consistent 
personality  of  its  author :  for,  as  has  been  well  said,  "  It 
is  the  characteristic  of  genius  to  comprehend  all  contra- 
dictories in  itself."  In  his  many-sided,  broad  "  whole- 
mindedness,"  Bacon  clearly  distinguished  the  difference 
between  art  and  science ;  recognizing  that  art  occupies  a 
distinct  realm,  having  laws  and  principles  of  its  own,  and 
with  well  defined  lines  of  demarkation  separating  it  from 
the  domain  of  science.  These  distinctions  are  based  upon 
the  fundamental  fact  that  a  work  of  art  is  essentially  a 
creation  of  man,  bearing  the  impress  of  his  formative 
hand.  Thus,  in  contradistinction  to  science,  one  of  its 
controlling  principles,  contributing  materially  to  its  power 
— because  it  is  responsive  to  a  deep  craving  of  the  human 
spirit — is  intensification.  (The  word  is  used  in  the  broad- 
est sense ;  for  the  Greeks  in  their  art  gave  intensity  even 
to  repose.')* 

*  This  intensification  is  aptly  illustrated  in  Greek  art,  in  its 
representation  of  the  human  form  in  a  substantial  perfection 
unknown  in  real  life:  "The  Greek  sculptor  couki  readily  form 
in  his  constructive  imagination  an  individual  figure,  which,  true 
to  nature  in  all  its  parts,  was  still  the  bearer  of  these  character- 
istics of  typical  life.  Especially  among  the  athletes  of  the  Pal- 
aestra his  eye  received  impressions  of  numberless  individual 
forms,  wljich  became  as  it  were  his  materials,  with  which,  with- 
out an  effort,  he  could  construcit  new  and  great  forms,  individual 
v.fti-ks  of  art  unmatched  in  real  life." — Essays  on  the  Art  of 
fhcidias. 


AND   HIS    SHAlviiSPEAilE.  409 

This  essential  principle,  exemplified  upon  almost  every 
page  of  the  Shakespeare,  was  fundamental  with  Bacon, 
who  gave  it  clear  exposition  in  his  Advancement  of  Learn- 
ing, Second  Book : 

"  Poetry  is  a  part  of  learning  in  measure  of  words  for 
the  most  part  restrained,  but  in  all  other  parts  extremely 
licensed,  and  doth  truly  refer  to  the  Imagination  ;  which, 
being  not  tied  to  the  laws  of  matter,  may  at  pleasure  join 
that  which  nature  hath  severed,  and  sever  that  which 
nature  hath  joined,  and  so  make  unlawful  matches  and 
divorces  of  things  :  Pictoribus  atque  poetls,  etc.  (Paint- 
ers and  poets  have  always  been  allowed  to  take  what  lib- 
erties they  would.)  It  is  taken  in  two  senses,  in  respect 
of  words  or  matter.  In  the  first  sense  it  is  but  a  charac- 
ter of  style,  and  belongeth  to  arts  of  speech,  and  is  not 
pertinent  for  the  present.*     In  the  latter  it  is  (as  hath 

*  Later,  in  the  Sixth  Book  of  his  De  Aur/mentis,  he  touches 
upon  versification,  concluding  in  these  masterful  words : 

"  Precepts  should  be  added  as  to  the  kinds  of  verse  which 
best  suit  each  matter  or  subject.  The  ancients  used  hexameter 
for  histories  and  eulogies ;  elegiac  for  complaints ;  iambic  for 
invectives  ;  lyric  for  odes  and  hymns.  Nor  have  modern  poets 
been  wanting  in  this  wisdom,  as  far  as  their  ovi^n  languages  are 
concerned.  The  fault  has  been,  that  some  of  them,  out  of  too 
much  zeal  for  antiquity,  have  tried  to  train  the  modern  lan- 
guages into  the  ancient  measures  (hexameter,  elegiac,  sapphic, 
etc.)  :  measures  incompatible  with  the  structure  of  the  languages 
themselves,  and  no  less  offensive  to  the  ear.  In  these  things 
the  judff7uent  of  the  sense  is  to  be  i^vef erred  to  the  i^ecepts  of 
art, —  as  the  poet  says, 

Coence  fercula  nostrce 
Mallem  convivis  quam  placuisse  cocis. 

["The  dinner  is  for  eating,  and  my  v/ish  is 

That  guests  and  not  that  cooks  should  like  the  dishes."] 

And  it  is  not  art,  hiit  abuse  of  art,  ivhen  instead  of  perfecting 
nature,  it  perverts  her." 

This  original,  but  preeminently  sound  artistic  principle,  is  tlic 
distinctive  law  of  the  Shakespearean  versification  ;  universally 


410  FKANCIS    BACON 

been  said)  one  of  the  principal  portions  of  learning,  and 
is  nothing  else  but  Feigned  History,  which  may  be  styled 
as  well  in  prose  as  in  verse. 

"  The  use  of  this  Feigned  History  hath  been  to  give  some 
shadow  of  satisfaction  to  the  mind  of  man  in  those  points 
wherein  the  nature  of  things  doth  deny  it ;  the  world 
being  in  proportion  inferior  to  the  soul ;  by  reason  whereof 
there  is  agreeable  to  the  spirit  of  man  a  more  ample  great- 
ness, a  more  exact  goodness,  and  a  more  absolute  variety, 
than  can  be  found  in  the  nature  of  things.  Therefore, 
because  the  acts  or  events  of  true  history  have  not  that 
magnitude  which  satisfieth  the  mind  of  man,  poetry  feign- 
eth  acts  and  events  greater  and  more  heroical;  because 
true  history  propoundeth  successes  and  issues  of  actions 
not  so  agreeable  to  the  merits  of  virtue  and  vice,  there- 
fore poetry  feigns  them  more  just  in  retribution,  and 
more  according  to  revealed  providence  ;  because  true  his- 

recognized  as  such  by  the  critics.  Thus,  Richard  Grant  White 
.says : 

"  Shakespeare's  freedom  in  the  use  of  words  was  but  a  part  of 
that  conscious  irres2)onsibilitif  to  critical  rule  which  had  such  an 
important  influence  upon  the  development  of  his  whole  di-amatic 
style."  And  Gervinus  says :  "  But  Shakespeare  soon  stepped 
forth  from  this  constraint,  in  a  manner  scarcely  indicated  by 
Marlowe ;  he  intertwined  the  sense  more  clearly  through  the 
verses  according  to  the  degree  ofpassio7i  expressed;  and  yield- 
ing to  this  inward  impulse,  he  removed  the  monotonousness  of 
the  older  blank  verse  by  constantly  interrupting  its  regular  course, 
by  abbreviation  into  verses  of  one,  two,  or  three  feet,  by  repeated 
cesures  and  pauses,  by  concluding  these  cesures  with  amphi- 
brachs,  by  exchanging  the  iambic  metre  with  the  trochaic,  by 
alternately  contracting  or  extending  many-syllabled  words,  and 
by  combining  words  and  syllables,  capable  of  different  scanning. 
Especially  schooled  by  Spenser's  melodious  versification,  he  thus 
blended  its  manner  with  Marlowe's  power,  and  with  exquisite 
tact  of  sound  and  feeling,  lie  broke  up  the  stiff  severity  of  the 
old  verse  into  a  freedom  which  was  foreign  to  his  predecessors, 
and  yet  in  this  freedom  he  retained  a  moderation  which,  on  the 
other  hand,  ia  partly  lost  by  his  successors." 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  411 

tory  representeth  actions  and  events  more  ordinary  and 
less  interchanged,  therefore  poetry  endueth  them  with 
more  rareness,  and  more  unexpected  and  alternative  vari- 
ations. So  it  appeareth  that  poetry  serveth  and  confer- 
reth  to  magnanimity,  morality,  and  to  delectation."  * 

Gervinus  has  unfolded  so  clearly  the  exempHfication  of 
this  principle  in  the  Shakespeare,  that  its  brief  quotation 
gives  us  a  clearer  understanding  of  the  matter  than  would 
a  lengthy  discussion.     He  says  : 

"  From  the  chronicles  of  history  Shakespeare  conveyed 
into  his  poetry  the  idea  and  image  of  a  just  ruling  Nem- 
esis, so  familiar  in  his  age  ;  Bacon,  who  only  at  times  saw 
this  Nemesis  prominently  distinguished  in  history,  de- 
manded straightway  of  poetry  that  she  should  in  this  take 
the  place  of  history,  that  in  her  kingdom  the  images  of 
things  should  conform  themselves  to  the  will  of  the  mind, 
and  not,  as  in  reality,  that  the  mind  should  accommodate 
itself  to  the  things.  And  no  demand  is  more  just  than 
this.  .  .  .  Bacon  was  struck  by  the  wonderful  instances 
in  experience  in  which  God's  justice  is  even  here  made 
manifest ;  whoever  has  the  opportunity  of  looking  at  once 
into  the  inner  and  outer  life  of  men  will  indeed  not  unfre- 
quently  detect  the  track  of  this  Nemesis  :  this  exceptional 
appearance  in  the  actual  world  is  the  rule  in  Shakespeare's 
poetical  one.  It  is  not  the  stars  which  with  him  deter- 
mine the  fate  of  men,  but  their  works  ;  justice  lies  through- 
out just  at  the  point  where  it  is  most  fruitful  for  the  poetic 
representation ;  that  the  cause  of  the  descending  fate  is 
prepared  by  the  man  himself,  that  the  end  lies  in  the 
beginning,  that  the  cup  mixed  by  himself  is  placed  at  the 
lips  of  the  evil-doer,  and  that  even  here  retribution  hap- 
pens for  that  v/hich  is  here  done."  f 

*  There  is  here  developed  by  this  master  "Realist,"  the  essen- 
tial, fundamental  principle  of  "  Romanticism  ";  whose  contend- 
ing schools  likewise  find  their  perfect  blending  and  complete 
reconciliation  in  his  work  in  the  plays. 

t  Gervinus  continues :  "  Shakespeare  has  certainly  taken  the 


412  FRANCIS    BACON 

But  Bacon  further  amplifies  his  conception  of  the 
license  permissible  in  poetry.  In  his  Descri^jtion  of  the 
Intellectual  Globcj  he  says : 

"  History  is  referred  to  the  memory ;  poetry  to  the 
Imagination  ;  philosophy  to  the  Reason.  And  by  poetry 
here  I  mean  nothing  else  but  feigned  history.  History  is 
properly  concerned  with  individuals ;  the  impressions 
whereof  are  the  first  and  most  ancient  guests  of  the  hu- 
man mind,  and  are  as  the  primary  material  of  knowledge. 
With  these  individuals  and  this  material  the  human  mind 
perpetually  exercises  itself,  and  sometimes  sports.  For 
as  all  knowledge  is  the  exercise  and  work  of  the  mind,  so 
poetry  may  be  regarded  as  its  S2Jort.  In  philosophy,  the 
mind  is  bound  to  things ;  in  poetry,  it  is  released  from 
that  bond,  and  wanders  forth,  and  feigns  what  it  pleases. 
That  this  is  so  any  one  may  see,  who  seeks  ever  so  sim- 
ply and  without  subtlety  into  the  origins  of  intellectual 
impressions.  For  the  images  of  individuals  are  received 
by  the  sense  and  fixed  in  the  memory.  They  pass  into 
the  memory  whole,  just  as  they  present  themselves.  Then 
the  mind  recalls  and  reviews  them,  and  (which  is  its  proper 
office)  compounds  and  divides  the  parts  of  which  they 
consist.  For  the  several  individuals  have  something  in 
common  one  with  another,  and  again  something  different 
and  manifold.  Now  this  composition  and  division  is  either 
according  to  the  pleasure  of  the  mind,  or  according  to  the 

liberty  on  some  few  occasions  of  practising  an  injustice,  though 
only  in  the  case  of  subordinate  characters,  which  may  tend  to 
the  exercise  of  a  justice  all  the  more  severe  on  the  principal 
characters.  He  has  besides  permitted  Banquo,  Duncan,  Hast- 
ings, and  Cordelia  to  perish,  only  for  the  sake  of  the  error  of 
imprudence.  Yet  from  Shakespeare's  moral  system,  tending 
as  it  does  to  an  active  use  of  life,  that  lesson  would  result  which 
Bacon  enforced  with  so  much  emphasis,  that  men  must  expand 
their  tlioughts  and  look  cii-cumspectly  around  them,  if  they 
would  truly  advance  their  happiness  ;  that,  as  it  says  in  Troilus, 
*  omission  to  do  what  is  necessary. 
Seals  a  conmiission  to  a  blank  of  danger.' " 


AND   niS    SHAKESPEARE.  41  o 

nature  of  things,  its  it  exists  in  fact.  If  it  be  according 
to  the  pleasure  of  the  mind,  and  these  parts  are  arbitra- 
rily transposed  into  the  likeness  of  some  individual,  it  is 
the  work  of  imagination  ;  which,  not  being  bound  by  any 
law  and  necessity  of  nature  or  matter,  may  join  things 
which  are  never  found  together  in  nature,  and  separate 
things  which  in  nature  are  never  found  apart ;  being  nevei"- 
theless  confined  therein  to  these  primary  ^9«r^s  of  indi- 
viduals. For  of  things  which  have  been  in  no  part  ob- 
jects of  the  sense,  there  can  be  no  imagination,  not  even 
a  dream." 

Here  we  have  a  firm  grasp,  and  the  distinct  enuncia- 
tion of  an  underlying  principle  of  art,  in  its  development 
of  human  "  sport,"  to  which  Herbert  Spencer  has  since 
given  such  able  exposition,  and  which  finds  its  supreme 
exemplifications  in  TJie  Ilidsummer  NigMs  Dream  and 
The  Tempest. 

The  critics  have  often  commented  on  the  extraordinary 
verisimilitude  of  the  most  fanciful  creations  in  the  plays, 
— "  creatures  that  act  just  as  such  creatures  ought  to  act." 
Of  this,  Ariel,  in  The  Tempest^  (whose  name  partakes  of 
the  symbolism  of  the  play),  is  a  striking  example. 

Prosper©  continually  addresses  Ariel  as  a  "  spirit ": 
"  My  brave  spirit ;  "  "  Why,  that 's  my  spirit !  "  "  Dost 
thou  think  so,  spirit  ?  "  "  Spirit,  fine  spirit !  "  etc.  In  his 
Be  Augmentis,  Fourth  Book,  Bacon  says : 

"  Let  us  now  proceed  to  the  doctrine  which  concerns 
the  Human  Soul,  from  the  treasures  whereof  all  other 
doctrines  are  derived.  The  parts  thereof  are  two ;  the 
one  treats  of  the  rational  soul,  which  is  divine ;  the  other 
of  the  irrational,  which  is  common  with  brutes.  .  .  .  the 
one  springing  from  the  breath  of  God,  the  other  from  the 
womb  of  the  elements.  .  .  .  Now  this  soul  (as  it  exists 
in  man)  is  only  the  instrument  of  the  rational  soul,  and 
has  its  origin  like  that  of  the  brutes  in  the  dust  of  the 
earth."    In  his  History  of  Life  and  Deaths  after  discuss- 


414  FRANCIS   BACON 

ing-  what  he  terms  the  "  spirits  "  in  inanimate  things,  he 
continues  :  "  The  other  difference  between  the  spirits  is, 
that  the  vital  spirit  has  in  it  a  degree  of  inflammation,  and 
is  like  a  breath  compounded  of  flame  and  air.  .  .  .  But 
the  inflammation  of  the  vital  spirits  is  gentler  by  many 
degrees  than  the  softest  flame,  whether  of  spirits  of  wine 
or  other ;  and  besides  it  is  largely  mixed  with  an  oirial 
substance,  so  as  to  be  a  mysterious  combination  of  a  flam- 
meous  and  serial  nature."  "  Likewise  the  spirit  gets  from 
air  its  easy  and  delicate  impressions  and  receptions,  but 
from  flame  its  noble  and  powerful  motions  and  activity. 
In  like  manner,  also,  the  duration  of  the  spirit  is  a  com- 
pound thing,  not  so  momentary  as  flame,  nor  yet  so  per- 
manent as  air." 

Ariel  is  a  perfect  embodiment  of  this  conception.  Pros- 
per© addresses  him : 

"  Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling 
Of  their  afflictions  ?  " 

And  again,  Ariel  says  : 

"  All  hail,  great  master  !  grave  sir,  Hail !     I  come 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure  ;  be  't  to  fly, 
To  swim,  to  dive  Into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curl'd  clouds ;  to  thy  strong  bidding  task 
Ariel,  and  all  his  quality. 
Prospero.  Hast  thou,  spirit, 

Perform'd  to  point  the  tempest  that  I  bade  thee? 
Ariel.  To  every  article. 

I  boarded  the  king's  ship ;  now  on  the  beak, 
Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  In  every  cabin 
I  flamed  amazement:   sometimes  I\l  divide 
And  hum  in  many  places;  on  the  topmast, 
The  yards  and  bowsprit,  would  J  flame  distinctly, 
Then  meet  and  join."  * 

*  And  even  here,  the  "  alphabet "  of  nature's  elements  is  util- 
ized :  "  The  ball  of  fire,  called  Castor  by  the  ancients,  that  ap- 
pears at  sea,  prognosticates  a  severe  storm  (seeing  it  Is  Castor 
the  (lead  brother ),  which  will  he  much  more  severe  if  the  hall  does 
not  adhere  to  the  mast,  but  rolls  or  dances  about.    But  if  there 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  415 

Professor  Richard  G.  Moulton,  in  his  lecture  ou  The 
Tenijjest  as  a  Drama  of  Enchantment^  discerningly  re- 
marks, "  We  see  in  him  [Ariel]  just  the  qualities  of  air 
and  fire.  He  is  invisible,  but,  like  the  lightnings,  can 
take  shape  as  he  acts.  Like  air  and  fire,  he  can  penetrate 
everywhere,  treading  the  ooze  of  the  salt  deep,  running 
upon  the  sharp  winds  of  the  north,  doing  business  in  the 
veins  of  the  earth  when  it  is  baked  witli  frost.  His  nat- 
ural speech  is  music,  or  waves  of  the  air.  His  ideas  are 
the  ideas  associated  with  the  atmosphere  —  liberty  and 
omnipresence :  to  be  '  free  as  mountain  winds,'  to  fly  on 
the  bat's  back  merrily,  couch  in  the  cow^slip's  bell,  live 
under  the  blossom  that  hangs  from  the  bow."  f 

And  through  our  additional  comprehension  of  Bacon's 
distinctive,  underlying  conception  of  the  reality,  peculiar 
to  himself,  we  are,  in  fact,  placed  in  command  of  the  inner- 
most secret  of  the  evolution  of  this  unembodied  "  spirit," 
and  of  the  wonderful  verisimilitude,  and  perfectly  consist- 
ent action,  of  what  is  perhaps  the  most  original  of  all  the 
fanciful  creations  ever  produced  in  this  "  sport "  of  the 
human  mind. 

Returning  to  our  main  theme  :  Though  the  Greeks  gave 
to  the  productions  of  their  art,  in  a  striking  degree,  an 
interior  unity  in  an  all-pervading  harmony  (the  essential 
characteristic  of  a  truly  organic  structure),  thus  evincing 
their  progress  into  a  deep  sympathy  with  nature  in  its 
inner  constitution  and  its  animating  spirit,  yet  in  their 

are  two  of  them  (that  is  if  Pollux  the  living  brother  be  present), 
and  that  too  when  the  storm  has  increased  it  is  reckoned  a  good 
sign.  But  if  there  are  three  of  them  (that  is,  if  Helen,  the  gen- 
eral scourge,  arrive),  the  storm  will  become  more  fearful.  The 
fact  seems  to  be,  that  one  by  itself  seems  to  indicate  that  the 
tempestuous  matter  is  crude ;  two,  that  it  is  prepared  and  rip- 
ened ;  three  or  more,  that  so  great  a  quantity  is  collected  as  can 
hai'dly  be  dispersed." — History  of  the  Winds. 

t  Shalcespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist,  by  Richard  G.  Moulton. 


41 G  FRANCIS    BACON 

treatment  of  form  (which  is  the  domain  of  scnlpture)  their 
supreme  excellence  lay  in  their  development  of  that  which 
appeals  more  directly  to  the  "  physical "  eye,  and  thence 
to  the  emotions  naturally  aroused  by  this  sight, —  as  wit- 
ness the  perfection  of  their  human  figures,  and  their  com- 
paratively expressionless  faces  ;  as  compared  with  the  test 
products  of  modern  sculpture,  in  its  search  after  a  larger 
expression  compatible  with  the  enduring  marble.  And  the 
same  characteristic  is  discernible  in  their  Tragedies,  where, 
whenever  natui-e  is  touched  upon  (and  in  vEschylus,  its 
sympathetic  reflection  is  simply  marvellous),  it  is  presented 
in  its  purely  external  aspects,  and  with  the  like  compar- 
ative, though  much  less  pronounced  inexpression  of  its 
subtler  meanings.  In  a  word,  the  power  of  the  Greeks, 
and  the  excellence  of  their  art,  were  in  large  measure  the 
outgrowth  and  natural  development  of  their  customary 
close  observation  of  things,  coupled  with  their  resulting 
exquisite  sensitiveness  to  the  immediate  impressions  of  the 
senses,  and  their  general  and  strongly  moving  impulse 
towards  expression. 

But  Bacon,  in  addition,  or  indeed  more  intelligently  and 
to  a  much  greater  extent,  opened  "  the  eye  of  the  mind," 
not,  as  did  Plato,  in  the  direction  of  its  inner  recesses,  but 
outwardly,  through  the  senses,  into  the  recesses  of  nature, 

—  into  "  the  heart  and  marrow  of  things."  He  thus,  in 
effect,  opened  up  to  man's  possession  what  was  to  him  a 
"new  world,"  lying  all  the  while  at  his  feet  unrecognized 
and  unappreciated ;  exhaustless  in  its  resources,  and  fath- 
omless in  its  profundity  —  the  new  world  of  God's  uni- 
verse. The  province  of  art  is  its  objective  revelation  and 
interpretation  ;  the  revelation  of  its  inner  life  and  spirit, 
and  the  interpretation  of  its  thought.  And  in  his  Shake- 
speare, Bacon  inaugurated  the  new  art  of  this  new  world, 

—  a  living  art,  whose  growth  and  expansion  will  be  lim- 
ited only  by  the  growth  of  the  race  and  the  expanse  of 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  417 

the  universe.  It  is  the  artistic  development  and  expres- 
sion, in  appropriately  beautiful  forms,  of  all  that  this 
opened  eye  of  the  mind  discerns  in  nature  and  humanity. 
We  have  repeatedly  caught  glimpses  of  Bacon's  pene- 
trative vision  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  nature,  and 
of  his  artistic  embodiment  of  its  results  in  the  plays, — in 
their  very  constitution,  in  their  "  coloring,"  and  in  their 
detailed  elaboration.  (See  especially  ante^  page  258,  note, 
and  context.)  And  for  a  single  brief  example  of  still 
another,  and  perhaps  more  incidental  phase  :  Sleep  has  its 
purely  physical  aspects,  and  also  its  inner,  subtler  signifi- 
cations ;  which  latter  are  beautifully  unfolded  in  Macbeth^ 
Act  IL: 

'■'  3Iacheth.  The  innocent  sleep : 

Sleep,  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleeve  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  day's  life,  sore  labor's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature's  second  course. 
Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast." 

"  Macd.  Confusion  now  hath  made  his  masterpiece ! 
Most  sacrlligious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  annointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  life  o'  the  building.  .  .  . 
Banquo,  and  Donalbain  !     Malcolm  !     Awake  ! 
Shake  off  this  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit, 
And  look  on  death  itself  !  —  up,  up,  and  see 
The  great  doom's  image  !     Malcolm  !     Banquo  ! 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites, 
To  countenance  this  horror  !     Ring  the  bell." 

And  again,  we  have  seen  in  the  Julius  Ccesar,  the  like 
artistic  expression  and  revelation  of  man  himself,  in  the 
inner  recesses  of  his  constitution,  and  as  he  is  affected  by 
the  subtle  forces  that  act  upon  him  both  from  within  and 
without, —  the  embodiment  in  the  domain  of  art  of  the 
results  achieved  through  this  close,  penetrative  study  of 
humanity,  "such  as  it  is  in  fact,"  in  its  actual  reality. 

Through  the  marvellous  progress  of  science,  under  the 
dominating  influence  of  the  Baconian  spirit,  our  acquaint- 

27 


418  FRANCIS    BACON 

auce  with  nature  has  since  become  much  more  intimate, 
with  a  vastly  enlarged  comprehension  of  her  beautiful 
workings,  of  her  manifold  subtleties,  her  exquisite  har- 
monies, her  inexhaustible  variety,  and  of  the  continually 
unfolding  similitudes,  that  are  the  outward,  salient  man- 
ifestations of  her  inner,  constitutional  unity.  And  when 
Art  shall  awaken  from  its  semi-lethargy,  throw  off  the 
deadening  Platonic  influence,  with  its  resultant  inatten- 
tion to  nature,  and  becoming  alike  dominated  by  the  Ba- 
conian spirit,  shall  turn  itself,  devotedly,  to  the  direct 
utilization  within  its  own  domain  of  these  magnificent 
results,  then,  indeed,  will  the  world  enter  upon  its  long 
foretold  Golden  Age,  that  will  endure,  with  ever  bright- 
ening lustre,  till  the  end  of  time.  For  science  and  art  are 
sisters,  both  drawing  their  sustenance  from  nature's  bosom : 
both  were  for  centuries  untimely  weaned,  and  in  conse- 
quence, they  were  both  nearly  starved ;  and  alike,  in  each 
case,  a  return  to  the  original  fount  is  the  indipensable 
condition  of  their  healthy  growth. 

The  glorious  opportunities  afforded  to  art,  especially  in 
literature,  through  the  continual  advancement  of  science, 
are  eloquently  set  forth  by  Professor  Thomas  C.  Cham- 
berlain, of  the  University  of  Chicago,  in  an  address  deliv- 
ered at  one  of  its  first  Convocations,  upon  The  Mission 
of  the  Scientific  Spirit  (published  in  the  Chicago  Stand- 
ard of  April  6,  1893).  He  first  states  the  essential  char- 
acteristic of  this  truly  Baconian  spirit : 

"  It  has  for  its  supreme  attribute  a  controlling  love  of 
determinate  truth ;  not  truth  in  a  vague  mystical  sense, 
but  rigid,  solid  knowledge.  It  is  a  search  for  facts,  and 
the  immediate  and  necessary  inductions  from  facts.  It 
is  a  pervading  desire  for  actualities,  stripped  of  imperfec- 
tions .and  quasi-truths ;  stripped  of  mists  and  fogs  and 
veils  of  obscurity,  and  set  forth  in  their  pure,  naked  sim- 
plicity.    It  is  a  zeal  for  uncolored  realities.  .  .  .  When 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  419 

demonstrative  realities  are  brought  forth  they  are  embraced 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  They  displace  all  preconcep- 
tions, all  deductions  from  general  postulates,  all  favorite 
theories.  The  dearest  doctrines,  the  most  fascinating  hy- 
potheses, the  most  cherished  creations  of  the  imagination 
or  of  the  reason,  are  cast  aside,  that  the  new  light  may 
freely  enter  and 'illuminate  the  mind.  Previous  intellect- 
ual affections  are  crushed,  without  hesitation  and  without 
remorse.  Demonstrative  facts  are  placed  before  reason- 
ings, and  before  ideals,  even  though  the  reasonings  and 
the  ideals  seem,  from  previous  bias,  to  be  more  beautiful, 
to  be  more  lofty,  yea,  even  though  they  should  seem  for 
the  time,  until  the  clearer  vision  come,  to  be  truer." 

In  his  summary,  but  comprehensive  survey  of  the  work- 
ings of  this  spirit  in  the  various  departments  of  man's 
activity,  he  comes  at  length  to  literature.  And  here,  he 
traces  first  its  destructive  influence  upon  much  of  the 
artistic  literature  of  the  past : 

"  The  growth  of  present  knowledge,  the  love  of  pure 
truth  it  enkindles,  and  the  truer  views  of  the  constitution 
of  things  it  brings,  cannot  be  without  their  profound 
effects  upon  literary  tastes  and  literary  productions.  .  .  . 
In  the  mythical  realms  in  which  the  literature  of  the  free 
imagination  has  found  much  of  its  favorite  material,  this 
advance  has  been  destructive,  and  the  ruin  it  has  wrought 
may  cause  a  tinge  of  regret,  until  the  higher  gifts  it  brings 
are  realized.  .  .  .  Dante's  Inferno  is  a  literary  phenom- 
enon that  will  never  recur.  .  .  .  Milton's  cosmos,  equally 
with  his  chaos,  is  only  a  picture  of  the  past.  And  this 
simply  because  it  was  not  true.  The  heavens  are  not  as 
they  were  imagined.  The  beauty  of  thought  does  not 
malce  it  true.  The  loveliness  of  thought  does  not  make 
it  immortal.  Only  the  true  is  enduring.  We  still  love 
these  literary  products  of  days  and  conditions  that  are 
gone.  They  rightly  teach  us,  as  all  past  life-productions 
teach  the  appreciative  soul.  Rightly  viewed,  their  value 
is  even   heightened  by  the  very  fact  that  their  day  is 


420  FRANCIS    BACON 

gone,  to  return  no  more.  The  bone  that  lies  in  the  gut- 
ter is  matter  for  the  scavenger.  The  bone  that  is  imbed- 
ded in  the  Cambrian  shales  is  beyond  price.  And  so  it 
is  with  the  literature  that  marks  the  evolution  of  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  age.  As  products  of  the 
past  their  value  is  beyond  estimate.  As  factors  of  present 
and  future  creations  they  have  lost  their  potency." 

He  then  continues:  "  But  though,  thus  within  the  earth, 
and  on  the  earth,  and  in  the  heavens,  science  has  been  a 
destroyer  of  literary  fields,  by  the  same  act,  a  new  heavens 
and  a  new  earth  were  created.  New  fields,  and  new  func- 
tions for  literature  were  brought  forth.  When  the  new 
heavens,  pictured  by  a  true  imagination,  in  lieu  of  a  wild 
fantasy,  shall  become  as  vivid  in  realization  to  the  scien- 
tific generation  that  is  coming  as  the  old  heavens  were  to 
the  generations  of  the  past,  they  will  be  as  rich  in  literary 
possibilities  as  those  that  are  gone ;  nay  more,  they  will 
be  richer,  by  as  much  as  the  truth  of  a  creation  of  the 
Infinite  is  richer  than  the  fantasy  of  the  human  mind. 
Just  now,  we  stand  between  the  wreck  of  the  past  and  the 
growth  of  the  future.  Our  thoughts  and  sentiments  are 
not  yet  cleared  of  the  debris  of  past  concepts,  nor  have 
they  yet  taken  up,  in  their  fulness  and  beauty,  the  actual- 
ities and  possibilities  of  the  present  and  the  future.  The 
significance  of  the  face  of  the  earth  we  do  not  read  as  we 
will  come  to  read  it.  The  depths  of  the  new  heavens  we 
do  not  fathom  as  we  will  come  to  fathom  them.  The 
refined  light  thrown  on  other  fields  does  not  yet  inspire 
us  as  it  will  come  to  inspire  us.  Our  souls  do  not  throb 
at  the  touch  of  the  soul  of  the  new  universe.  When  the 
higher,  and  the  deeper  truths  that  lie  in  all  these  spheres 
shall  have  permeated  our  common  thought,  and  awakened 
responsive  sentiments,  they  will  form  the  ground  of  a  lit- 
erature more  rich,  and  more  enduring  than  any  they  have 
displaced." 

Such  are  the  materials  awaiting  the  moulding  of  the 
imagination  into  artistic  forms  which  will  afford  to  man- 


.AND    TTTS    STTAKESPEARE.  421 

kind  their  vivid  realization.  For  this  is  the  function  ot" 
art.  The  soul  of  the  true  artist  throbs  at  their  touch : 
and  he  gives  them  such  manifestation,  that  it  awakens  in 
our  souls  an  answering  throb ;  thus  bringing  us  into  com- 
munion with  "  the  soul  of  the  new  universe." 

Science,  Art,  and  Religion,  are  the  blessed  trinity  of 
man's  higher  activities.  Religion,  the  highest,  has  its 
seat  "  in  the  very  citadel  of  the  mind  and  understanding  "; 
and  its  province  is  the  immediate  fulfilment  of  the  highest 
aspiration  of  the  soul.  Within  its  domain,  we  ai'e  brought 
to  an  understanding  of  God,  the  Fatlipr,  through  his 
direct  revelation  in  Jesus  Christ ;  and  to  his  realization, 
through  the  ministration  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

But  God  is  also  revealed  in  his  works  ;  which,  in  a  pro- 
found sense,  are  his  outward,  physical  manifestation.  But 
here,  in  divine  wisdom,  man  is  happily  thrown  wholly 
upon  the  exercise  of  his  own  powers,  unaided  by  a  direct 
revelation.  And  accordingly,  the  intellectual  comprehen- 
sion of  the  universe,  and  of  God  as  he  is  revealed  therein, 
is  the  especial  office  and  function  of  Science ;  whose  spe- 
cific subject  matter,  in  its  last  analysis,  is  power^  the 
power  of  God,  as  it  is  manifested  in  its  manifold  workings 
in  the  universe ;  and  whose  effect  is  to  be  the  immeasur- 
able increase  of  the  power  of  man,  through  his  divinely 
ordained  subjection  of  the  forces  of  nature  to  his  service. 

But  the  intellectual  comprehension  of  these  matters,  in 
the  cold,  clear,  "  dry  light "  of  reason,  is  one  thing  ;  and 
their  vivid  idealization^  in  the  heart  and  soul  of  mankind, 
is  another  and  a  greater  thing.  And  this  latter  is  the  true 
function  and  province  of  Art,  in  its  beneficent  ministry 
to  man. 

Realization  is  effected  through  the  legitimate  workings 
of  the  imagination.  This  is  true  even  in  religion.  As  Bacon 
aptly  observes  :  "  Not  that  divine  illumination  resides  in 
the  imagination  ;  its  seat  being  rather  in  the  very  citadel  of 


422  FRANCIS    BACON 

the  mind  and  understanding- ;  but  that  the  divine  grace 
uses  the  motions  of  the  imagination  as  an  instrument  of 
ilkimiuation ;  just  as  it  uses  the  motions  of  the  will  as  an 
instrument  of  virtue." 

The  true,  divinely  appointed  artist  discerns,  beyond  his 
fellows,  the  inner  animating  spirit,  that  enlivens  the  man- 
ifestations he  observes.  He  discerns,  not  merely  their 
unfolding  power,  but  the  inherent  beauty  of  that  power. 
And  in  his  deeper  insight  into  what  is  manifested,  he  is 
thrilled  to  the  core.  His  imagination  is  fired  at  the  sight, 
and  in  the  illumination,  he  attains  to  its  vivid  realization. 
It  becomes  thenceforward  a  part  of  himself,  and  of  the 
environment  in  which  he  consciously  dwells. 

Coming  thus  into  contact  with  "  the  soul  of  the  uni- 
verse," he  has  caught  thence  the  divine  impulse  towards 
expression.  He  would  give  also  to  his  fellows,  if  possible, 
and  to  mankind  forever,  the  like  vision,  appreciation,  and 
vivid  realization  of  this  "  good."  He  cannot  deal  in  ab- 
stractions ;  for  he  must  work  through  the  imagination, 
quickening  it  into  activity.  He  therefore,  according  to 
his  power,  gives  to  his  particular  vision  incarnation  in  con- 
crete form  ;  giving  to  what  he  has  seen  concentrated  man- 
ifestation^ in  an  intensity  that  compels  its  recognition. 
His  work  is  the  act  of  the  whole  man,  mind,  heart,  and 
soul,  and  with  all  his  powers  in  their  highest  activity.  It 
is  suffused  with  emotion,  or  rather  with  that  which  has 
})roduced  his  emotion.  Its  sight  consequently  enkindles 
our  imagination,  and  awakens  in  our  hearts  like  emotions  : 
and  thus  through  his  work,  we  indeed  enter  into  the  real- 
ization of  his  vision. 

Thus  for  a  new  familiar  example  :  Many  of  us  are  blind 
to  the  fact,  or  perhaps  have  not  yet  awakened  to  its  real- 
ization, that  God's  retributive  justice  runs  through  the 
thread  of  man's  life.  Bacon,  however,  with  clear  vision, 
discerned  its  presence  and  operation ;  though  in  the  daz- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  428 

zHng  play  of  the  shuttle,  it  can  be  detected  only  here  and 
there,  in  the  barest  glimpses.  And  in  the  plays,  in  the 
fulfilment  of  the  end  of  art,  he  intensifies  its  manifesta- 
tion. He  "  writes  it  and  reports  it  to  view  in  such  capital 
letters  that  (as  the  Prophet  sayeth)  '  He  that  runneth  by 
may  read.'  "  We  behold  continually,  that  "  the  cup  mixed 
by  himself  is  placed  at  the  lips  of  the  evil-doer,"  and  that, 
as  in  Cassius'  case, 

"  Thus  doth  lie  force  the  swords  of  wicked  men 
To  turn  their  own  points  on  their  masters'  bosoms." 

The  sight  is  so  impressive,  that  we  awaken  to  the  conscious- 
ness that  this  justice  is  indeed  a  reality,  and  to  a  vivid  real- 
ization that  it  is  actually  a  working  element  in  life ;  though 
its  operations  are  often  obscured  from  view,  through  the 
intermingling  of  other  elements  in  life's  complexities.  Our 
eyes  are  opened  to  its  closer  observation,  and  its  recognition 
becomes  a  deterring  force,  tending  to  restrain  us  from  evil 
courses.  But  it  is  not  "  abstract  justice  "  thus  engaging 
our  contemplation  :  instead,  we  are  entering  into  the  com- 
prehension and  the  realization  of  the  justice  of  God. 

And  in  like  manner,  the  true  artist,  viewing  nature 
closely,  catches  evanescent  glimpses,  here  and  there,  of 
the  exquisite  beauty  and  the  harmony  that  are  actually 
present  in  her  manifestations  ;  though  to  the  duller  vision 
they  are  too  often  obscured  from  viev/,  in  the  bewildering 
whirl  of  her  incessant  activities.  Possessed  by  this  vision 
of  loveliness,  he  gives  it  incarnation,  in  a  concentrated 
manifestation.  Beholding  it,  we  also  attain  to  his  vision, 
and  we  awake  to  the  perception  of  a  beauty  existing  in 
nature  which  was  before  by  us  unrecognized  and  unknown  ; 
and  our  hearts,  also,  are  thrilled  in  its  presence.  And  we 
shall  yet  learn,  that  it  is  not  "  abstract  beauty  "  thus  en- 
gaging our  contemplation,  but  that,  through  this  instru- 
mentality, we  are  indeed  brought  into  realizing  contact 
with  the  beauty  and  the  harmony  inherent  in  the  Soul  of 


424  FRANCIS    BACON 

the  universe.  It  is,  in  effect,  a  disclosure  of  the  heauty 
of  God,  and  of  Ills  liarmontj,  as  they  are  reflected  in  his 
works. 

Again,  God  is  love :  and  self-impartation  is  love's  in- 
stinctive impulse,  its  characteristic  mode  of  action.  And 
in  reality,  the  Love  of  God  is  thus  displayed  in  the  uni- 
verse. But  the  scientist  of  to-day,  using  the  dry  light  of 
reason,  and  discerning  everywhere  the  presence  and  oper- 
ation oi 2^oicer,  manifested,  for  example,  in  the  phenomena 
of  light,  heat,  and  electricity,  has  exalted  it  into  a  verit- 
able "entity,"  which  he  calls  "energy,"  the  primal  force 
in  the  universe.  But  this  fails  to  satisfy  the  human  heart, 
with  its  instinctive  aspiration  after  God,  and  for  the  real- 
ization of  his  actual  and  active  presence.  And  the  world 
to-day  is  awaiting,  with  deep  longing,  the  advent  of  the 
artist  poet,  or  poets,  of  truly  creative  power,  who  shall  sing, 
"in  mighty  verse,"  the  new  song  of  this  new  universe; 
unfolding  to  our  vision  its  spiritual  and  material  realms 
in  their  essential,  organic  unity  ;  wherein  this  "  energy," 
in  its  Protean  phases,  is  itself  a 2)henomeno7i,  the  physical 
expression  and  manifestation  of  the  Supreme  Love,  in  the 
self-impartation  of  His  sustaining  power  to  the  universe 
and  all  that  it  contains,  and  in  the  evolution  of  His  thought, 
in  its  ever  unfolding  harmony ;  thus  awakening  in  our 
souls  a  keener  perception,  and  a  more  profound,  and  more 
vivid  realization  of  His  power.  His  wisdom,  and  His  lov- 
liness,  as  He  is  revealed  in  his  works. 

It  is  not  without  its  deep  significance,  that  art,  in  its 
early  rudiments,  and  in  all  the  ages,  has  ever  been  inti- 
mately associated  with  religion.  Because  the  heathen 
worshipped  false  gods,  we  do  not  discard  worship :  but 
instead,  in  the  fulfilment  of  an  instinctive  impulse  turned 
in  the  right  direction,  we  worship  God  in  sincerity  and 
truth.     And  likewise,  the  Christian,  of  all  men  in  the 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  425 

world,  sliould  foster  art,  encourage  its  development,  and 
strive  for  its  elevation  to  its  rightful  plane;  for  it  is  clearly 
evident,  that  in  the  ages  to  come,  it  will  be  thi-ough  the 
blessed  ministrations  of  Art,  that  mankind  will  ultimately 
attain  to  the  burning  consciousness,  and  the  living  real- 
ization of  the  unutterable  g^ory  of  God,  as  it  shines  forth 
in  his  universe. 

Man's  thirst  for  beauty,  with  his  deep  satisfaction  in 
its  fulfilment,  is  a  divinely  implanted  instinct ;  feeble, 
flickering  at  first,  but  "growing  upon  what  it  feeds,"  with 
a  continual  attunement  to  finer  harmonies.  Bacon,  mind- 
ful of  the  revelation  of  man's  creation  and  fall,  said,  in 
felicitous  phrase,  that  conscience  "  is  a  sparkle  of  the 
purity  of  his  first  estate."  And  likewise,  and  with  equal 
validity,  it  may  be  said  that  this  love  of  beauty  is  the  lin- 
gering glow  of  the  glory  of  that  first  estate,  whose  reful- 
gence filled  the  heavens,  in  ineffable  harmony,  and  "when 
the  morning  stars  sang  together  for  joy."  So  that  what 
Plato  taught  and  poets  have  sung  of  man's  reminiscence 
of  a  previous  existence  is  true,  not  of  the  individual,  but 
of  the  race,  that 

'trailing  clouds  of  glory,  did  we  come 
From  God,  who  is  our  home.' 

But  this  feeble,  flickering  reflection  can  only  be  bright- 
ened from  its  original  source.  We  must  learn  the  har- 
mony inherent  in  those  stars,  if  we  would  again  listen  to 
their  song.  The  new  heavens  and  the  new  earth  are 
indeed  radiant  with  the  light  of  God's  glory,  and  resonant 
with  His  harmony :  and  our  ever  growing  thirst  for  beauty, 
with  our  instinctive  delight  in  its  enjoyment,  will  only 
find  its  abundant  fulfilment  and  satisfaction  in  the  unut- 
terable joy  experienced  in  their  conscious  realization. 

Such  is  the  divinely  appointed  mission  and  the  lofty 
goal  of  this  new  art  of  the  new  universe,  which  Bacon 
inaugurated  ;  and  whose  immediate  and  serious  purpose, 


42G  FUANCIS    BACON 

even  in  the  midst  of  the  delightfnl  exercise  of  its  recrea- 
tive "  sport,"  is  the  interpretative  revelation  of  the  reali- 
ties of  this  universe  in  their  intrinsic  beauty  and  har- 
mony, and  in  such  power  as  to  effect  their  vivid  realiza- 
tion;  and  whose  possibilities  "will  be  richer,  by  as  much 
as  the  truth  of  the  creation  of  the  Infinite  is  richer  than 
the  fantasy  of  the  human  mind." 

It  is  profoundly  significant  that,  of  all  man's  creations, 
only  the  artistic  is  enduring  in  its  hold  upon  his  affec- 
tions. Only  things  of  beauty  are  "  a  joy  forever."  Indeed, 
the  glory  of  the  Greek  nation,  yea  its  perpetuity,  not  only 
in  history,  but  in  the  life  and  being  of  the  race,  and  thus 
what  we  call  its  immortality,  was  largely  the  outcome  and 
product  of  its  magnificent  development  of  art,  in  its  vari- 
ous forms.  And  when  our  age  shall  awaken  to  its  im- 
measurably greater  opportunities,  through  its  growing 
possession  of  this  new  and  truly  inexhaustible  universe, 
and  shall  generally  recognize  and  appreciate  the  surpass- 
ing worth  of  art  and  its  enduring  quality,  and  shall,  accord- 
ingly, turn  its  superabundant  energies  directly  and  with 
like  devotion  to  its  development ;  then,  indeed,  and  over 
and  beyond  what  is  wrought  through  our  triumphs  in 
science,  will  we  most  eft'ectually  and  endurably  impress 
ourselves  upon  and  within  the  future  life  of  the  race,  and 
most  preciously  contribute  to  its  enrichment.  We  shall 
then  pay  our  debt  to  the  past,  by  our  greater  benefactions 
to  the  future :  and,  in  the  ensuing  progress,  it  will  yet  be 
seen  and  appreciated  that  this  Greek  art,  in  its  beautiful 
perfection  but  limited  scope,  was  but  the  opening  vesti- 
bule into  the  greater,  more  glorious,  and  the  truly  conse- 
crated Temple  of  Art,  which  in  its  ever  expanding  pro- 
portions is  destined  ultimately  to  fill  the  earth  :  and  the 
light  of  this  temple  is  to  be  the  glory  of  God. 

Nor  can  this  art,  which  in  its  blessed  ministry  to  man 
might  properly  be  termed  the  lovely  handmaid  of  religion, 


AND    HIS    SIIAKESPEAKE.  427 

ever  usurp  her  place  and  function.  Bacon's  words  of 
wisdom  are  both  pertinent  and  of  commanding  force.  In 
liis  De  Augmentis,  Ninth  Book,  he  says : 

"  Wherefore  we  conclude  that  Sacred  Theology  ought 
to  be  derived  from  the  word  and  oracles  of  God,  and  not 
from  the  light  of  nature,  or  the  dictates  of  reason.  For 
it  is  written,  '  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,'  but 
it  is  nowhere  written,  '  The  heavens  declare  the  will  of 
God ';  but  of  that  it  is  said,  '  To  the  law  and  to  the  testi- 
mony ;  if  men  do  not  according  to  this  word,  etc'  And 
this  holds  not  only  in  those  great  mysteries  which  con- 
cern the  Deity,  the  Creation,  and  the  Redemption  ;  but  it 
pertains  likewise  to  a  more  perfect  interpretation  of  the 
moral  law,  '  Love  your  enemies ';  '  do  good  to  them  that 
hate  you,'  and  so  on;  'that  ye  may  be  the  children  of 
your  father  who  is  in  heaven,  that  sendeth  rain  upon  the 
just  and  the  unjust.'  To  which  words  this  applause  may 
well  be  applied,  '  that  they  do  not  sound  human  ';  since 
it  is  a  voice  beyond  the  light  of  nature.  ...  So  then 
religion,  whether  considered  with  regard  to  morals  or 
mysteries,  depends  on  revelation  from  God." 

It  is  very  noticeable  that  the  few  great  creative  artists  of 
modern  times,  those  whom  we  are  wont  to  count  upon  our 
lingers,  were  profoundly  reverent.  This  is  especially  true 
of  Michael  Angelo,  of  Dante,  and  of  Milton ;  and  the 
great  Goethe  has  opened  to  us  the  recesses  of  his  heart, 
in  these  expressive  words  : 

"  Credo  Deuni  /  That  is  a  fine,  a  worthy  thing  to  say  ; 
but  to  recognize  God  where  and  as  he  reveals  himself,  is 
the  only  true  bliss  on  earth."  "  Man  must  be  capable  of 
elevating  himself  to  the  highest  Reason,  to  come  into  con- 
tact with  the  Divinity,  which  manifests  itself  in  the  ele- 
mental phenomena,  which  dwells  behind  them,  and  from 
which  they  proceed."  "  But  this  is  the  divine  energy 
everywhere  diffused,  and  divine  love  everywhere  active." 

"  In  Faust  himself  there  is  an  activity  which  becomes 


428  FRANCIS    BACON 

constantly  higher  and  purer  to  the  end,  and  from  above, 
there  is  eternal  love  coming  to  his  aid.  This  harmonizes 
perfectly  with  our  religious  views,  according  to  which  we 
cannot  obtain  heavenly  bliss  through  our  own  strength 
alone,  but  with  the  assistance  of  divine  grace." 

And  Bacon,  the  greatest  of  them  all,  bowed  in  un- 
feigned reverence  before  the  Father  ;  regarding  the  uni- 
verse as  His  handiwork,  and  earnestly  striving  to  afford 
to  man  "  a  revelation  and  true  vision  of  the  traces  and 
moulds  of  the  Creator  in  his  creatures." 

This  reverent  spirit  not  only  brings  the  soul  into  inti- 
mate sympathy  with  the  great  Heart  pulsating  through 
all  existence,  but  somehow  it  opens  the  door  to  the  incom- 
ing of  the  divine  impulse,  which  lies  at  the  core  of  all 
great  creative  production.  The  divine  origin  of  this  im- 
pulse, and  its  workings  within  himself,  are  shadowed  forth 
by  Bacon,  in  these  few,  fervent  words  :  "  —  ever  earnestly 
desiring,  loith  such  a  jjcission  as  we  believe  God  alone 
insjnres,  that  this  which  has  been  hitherto  unattempted 
may  not  now  be  attempted  in  vain."  In  a  word,  it  is  not 
the  instinct  of  self-glorification,  but  the  unselfish  devotion 
of  the  soul,  devotion  to  the  Father,  and  to  His  children, 
the  burning  impulse  of  service  to  mankind,  of  self-impar- 
tation  to  others,  which  is  the  germ,  the  source,  the  foun- 
tain of  all  great  creative  work ;  for  it  is  the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  the  likeness  of  the  inspiration  of  the  Divine 
Artist 

Goethe,  profoundly  impressed  by  the  fact,  gave  it  ex- 
pression in  his  criticism  of  a  German  poet,  "  who  had 
lately  gained  a  great  name,"  but  who  has  since  been 
almost  forgotten :  "  We  cannot  deny  that  he  has  many 
brilliant  qualities,  but  he  is  wanting  in  —  love.  He  loves 
his  readers  and  his  fellow  poets  as  little  as  he  loves  him- 
self, and  thus  we  may  apply  to  him  the  maxim  of  the 
apostlo,  '  Tho7ff/h    J  speak  with  the  tongnes  of  men  and 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  429 

(Oigels,  and  have  not  love,  I  am  hecojiie  as  soundimj  brass 
and  a  tinhling  cymbal.^  I  have  lately  read  the  poems  of 
Platen,  aud  cannot  deny  his  great  talent.  But,  as  I  said, 
he  is  deficient  in  love,  and  thus  he  will  never  produce  the 
effect  which  he  ought." 

The  first  attribute  of  the  creative  artist  is  vision,  in  the 
clarity  afforded  by  "  purity  of  illumination  ";  the  second 
is  the  power  of  manifestation,  in  giving  incarnation  to  his 
visions  ;  and  the  third  is  love,  the  divine  impulse.  And 
here  again,  the  greatest  of  these  is  love ;  for  love  is  the 
inspiration  and  the  sustaining  power,  both  the  flame  and 
the  oil  in  the  lamp. 

All  of  which,  in  a  word,  is  but  a  glimpse  of  the  pro- 
found truths  exemplified  in  Bacon's  authorship  of  the 
plays. 


430  FKANCiS    BACON 


AN  AFTER-WORD. 

OF    INTEREST   TO    LAWYERS. 

Francis  Bacon  was  an  accomplished  lawyer,  bred  in  the 
profession,  himself  the  son  of  a  lawyer.*  In  the  beginning, 
and  for  eight  years  a  briefless  barrister,  he  rose  succes- 
sively through  the  various  gradations  to  the  highest  emi- 
nence in  his  profession,  becoming,  in  1618,  Lord  Chan- 
cellor of  Great  Britain.  His  pleas,  many  of  v/hich  have 
been  preserved,  and   his  legal  writings  fully  attest  his 

*  "  And  since  I  am  upon  the  point  whom  I  will  hear,  your 
Lordships  will  give  me  leave  to  tell  you  a  fancy.  It  falls  out,  that 
there  be  three  of  us  the  King's  servants  in  great  place,  that  are 
lawyers  by  descent,  Mr.  Attorney,  son  of  a  judge,  Mr.  Solicitor, 
likewise  son  of  a  judge,  and  raj^self,  a  chancellor's  son.  Now, 
because  the  law  roots  so  well  in  my  time,  I  will  water  it  at  the 
root  thus  far,  as  besides  these  great  ones,  I  will  hear  any  Judge's 
son  before  a  Sergeant,  and  any  Sergeant's  son  before  a  Reader, 
if  there  be  not  many  of  them." — Speech  on  taking  his  seat  in 
Chancery.      Works,  Vol.  13,  page  192. 

("  They  were  trained  together  in  their  childhood  ;  and  there 
rooted  betwixt  them  such  an  affection  which  cannot  choose  but 
branch  now.  Since  their  more  mature  dignities  and  royal  neces- 
sities made  separation  of  their  society,  their  encounters,  though 
not  personal,  have  been  royally  attorneyed,  with  interchange  of 
gifts,  letters,  loving  embassies." — A  Winters  Tale,  /.,  1. 

"  I  have  spoke  this,  to  know  if  your  affiance 
Were  deeply  rooted." — Cymbeline,  /.,  6. 

"  But  I,  having  a  good  affiance  in  your  Grace's  judgment, 
will  tell  you  my  reason  why  I  thus  think,  and  so  leave  it." — 
Works,  Vol.  14,  page  450. ) 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  431 

mastery  of  the  law.  They  show  that  its  principles,  its 
technique,  and  its  recondite  phraseology  were  thoroughly 
at  his  command.  The  law,  indeed,  was  his  livelihood,  his 
lifelong  profession,  in  youth  at  the  bar,  and  in  old  age 
upon  the  bench :  and  dwelling  thus  continually  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  court,  it  might  reasonably  be  expected 
that  some  of  its  air  would  be  wafted  into  the  plays ;  in 
metaphor,  illustration,  and  in  unmistakable  notes  and 
chords. 

Such  is  the  fact,  and,  in  the  words  of  Lord  Campbell, 
there  is  there  abundantly  displayed  '  a  familiar,  profound 
and  accurate  knowledge  of  juridical  principles  and  prac- 
tice.' 

This  is  a  phenomenon  of  exceeding  interest,  especially 
as  such  "  profound  and  accurate  "  professional  knowledge 
could  not  have  been  acquired  by  intuition,  but  only  by  the 
closest  study.  Moreover,  it  illustrates  how,  in  the  hands 
of  the  master,  the  driest  technical  details  were  inwrought 
into  the  texture  of  an  imaginative  work,  and  thus  made  to 
contribute  their  quota  to  its  amplitude  of  expression,  and, 
therefore,  to  its  artistic  power. 

And  here,  once  more,  original  research  is  unnecessary  ; 
for  this  work  has  already  been  performed,  and  its  results 
are  ready  to  our  hand.  In  1859,  in  reply  to  an  inquiry 
of  Mr.  Peter  Collier,  Lord  John  Campbell,  one  of  Bacon's 
successors  as  Lord  Chancellor  of  Great  Britain,  published 
an  essay  upon  "  Shakespeare's  Legal  Acquirements,''^  in 
which  he  collated,  with  pertinent  annotations,  passages 
from  the  plays,  which,  in  his  judgment,  evidenced  the 
possession  by  the  Poet  of  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
law.  Coming  from  such  an  eminent,  legal  authority,  abso- 
lutely impartial,  —  for  obviously  the  question  of  Bacon's 
authorship  of  the  plays  was  unknown  to  him, —  his  words 
have  far  greater  weight  than  anything  which  might  now 
be  said. 


132  FRANCIS    BACON 

The  following  are  quotations  from  his  book  (with  added 
annotations  from  Bacon's  Works)  : 

"  In  writing  the  second  scene  of  Act  IV.  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor^  Shakespeare's  head  was  so  full  of  the 
recondite  terms  of  the  law,  that  he  makes  a  lady  thus 
pour  them  out,  in  a  confidential  tete-a-tete  conversation 
with  another  lady,  while  discoursing  of  the  revenge  they 
two  should  take  upon  an  old  gentleman  for  having  made 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  upon  their  virtue : 

3Irs.  Page.  I  '11  have  the  cudgel  hallowed  and  hung  o'er  the 
altar :   It  hath  done  meritorious  service. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  think  you?  May  we,  with  the  tvarrant 
of  womanhood,  and  the  witness  of  a  good  conscience,  pursue 
him  with  any  further  revenge? 

Mrs.  Page.  The  spirit  of  wantonness  is,  sure,  scared  out  of 
him:  if  the  devil  have  him  not  in  fee  simple,  with  fine  and 
recovery,  he  will  never,  I  think,  in  the  way  of  waste,  attempt 
us  again. 

"  This  merry  Wife  of  Windsor  is  supposed  to  know 
that  the  highest  estate  which  the  devil  could  hold  in  any 
of  his  victims  was  a  fee  simjjle,  strengthened  hy  fine  and 
recovery.^'' 

"  The  following  is  part  of  the  dialogue  between  Anti- 
pholus  of  Syracuse  and  his  man  Dromio,  in  The  Comedy 
of  Errors,  Act  II.,  Sc.  2  : 

Dro.  S.  There 's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his  hair,  that 
grows  bald  by  nature. 

Ant.  S.  May  he  not  do  it  hy  fine  and  recovery? 

Dro.  S.  Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  periwig,  and  recover  the  lost 
hair  of  another  man. 

"  These  jests  cannot  be  supposed  to  arise  from  anything 
in  the  laws  or  customs  of  Syracuse ;  but  they  show  the 
author  to  be  very  familiar  with  some  of  the  most  abstruse 
proceedings  in  English  jurisprudence." 

"So  in  Airs  Well  that  Ends  Well,  Act  IV.,  Sc.  3, 
Parolles,  the  bragging  cowardly  soldier,  is  made  to  talk 
like  a  conveyancer  in  Lincoln's  Inn : 


AND   niS    SHAKESPEARE.  433 

He  will  sell  the  fee  simple  of  his  salvation  .  .  .  and  cut  tlvi 
entail  frovi  all  remainders.''  * 

"  Hamlet's  own  speech,  on  taking  in  his  hand  what  he 
supposed  might  be  the  skull  of  a  lawyer,  abounds  with 
lawyer-like  thoughts  and  words: 

Where  be  his  quiddits  now,t  his  quillets,^  his  tenures,  and 

*  "  The  last  and  greatest  estate  of  land  is  fee  si7nple,  and  be- 
yond this  there  is  none.  All  the  former,  for  years,  lives,  or 
entails,  have  further  beyond  them  the  estate  oi  fee  simjile;  but 
fee  simple  itself  is  the  greatest,  last,  and  utmost  degree  of  estates 
in  land.  Therefore  he  that  maketh  a  lease  for  life  to  one,  or  a 
gift  in  tail,  may  appoint  a  remainder  to  another  for  life  or  in 
tail  after  that  estate,  or  to  a  third  in  fee  simple ;  but  after  a 
fee  simple  he  can  limit  no  other  estate.  And  if  a  man  do  not 
dispose  of  the  fee  simple  by  way  of  remainder  when  he  maketh 
the  gift  in  tail,  or  for  lives,  then  the  fee  simple  resteth  in  him 
as  a  reversion.  .  .  .  This  slight  was  first  invented  when  entails 
fell  out  to  be  so  inconvenient,  as  is  before  declared,  so  that  men 
made  no  conscience  to  cut  them  off  if  they  could  find  law  for  it. 
And  now,  by  use,  these  recoveries  are  become  common  assur- 
ances against  entails  and  against  the  remainders  and  reversions, 
and  are  the  greatest  security  purchasers  have  for  their  money ; 
for  a,  fine  v/ill  bar  the  heir  in  tail,  and  not  the  remainder,  nor 
reversion,  but  a  common  recovery  will  bar  them  all." — Works, 
Vol.  7,  page  492. 

t "  And  the  Queen's  Counsel  did  again  enforce  that  point, 
setting  forth  that  it  was  no  mystery  or  quiddity  of  the  common 
law,  but  it  was  a  conclusion  infallible  of  reason  and  experience." 
—  Works,  Vol.  9,  page  286. 

I  "  Which  perpetuities,  if  they  should  stand,  would  bring  in 
all  the  former  inconveniences  of  entails,  that  were  cut  off  by  the 
former  mentioned  statutes ;  and  far  greater :  for,  by  the  per- 
petuity, if  he  that  is  in  possession  start  away  never  so  little,  in 
making  a  lease,  or  selling  a  little  quillet,  forgetting  after  two  or 
three  descents,  as  often  they  do,  how  they  are  tied :  the  next 
heir  must  enter."— IForA;s,  Vol.  7,  page  491.  "The  states  of 
Italy,  they  be  like  little  quillets  of  freehold  lying  intermixed  in 
the  midst  of  a  great  honor  or  lordship." — Discourse  in  Praise 
of  the  Queen,  Works,  Vol.  8,  page  136. 

28 


434  FRANCIS    BACON 

liis  tricks?*  Why  does  he  suffer  this  rude  knave  to  knock  him 
about  the  sconce  with  a  dirty  shovel,  and  will  not  tell  him  of  his 
action  of  battery  ?  Humph  !  This  fellow  might  be  in  's  time 
a  great  buyer  of  land,  with  his  statutes,  his  recognizances,  his 
fines,  his  double  vouchers,  his  recoveries :  is  this  the  fine  of  his 
fines,  and  the  recovery  of  his  recoveries,  to  have  his  fine  pate 
full  of  fine  dirt?  will  his  vouchers  vouch  him  no  more  of  his 
purchases,  and  double  ones  too,  than  the  length  and  breadth  of 
a  pair  of  indentures  ?  t 

"  These  terms  of  art  are  all  used  seemingly  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  their  import ;  and  it  would  puzzle  some 
practising  barristers  with  whom  I  am  acquainted  to  go 
over  the  whole  sei^iatlm.,  and  to  define  each  of  them  satis- 
factorily." 

"  So  fond  was  he  of  law  terms  that  in  lying  Henry  the 
Fourth.,  Part  I.,  when  Henry  IV.  is  made  to  lecture  the 
Prince  of  Wales  on  his  irregularities,  and  to  liken  him  to 

*  "  He  will  never  do  his  tricks  clean." — Promus.,  Works, 
Vol.  7,  page  205. 

"  Which  it  pleased  you  to  say  were  no  tricks  or  novelties,  but 
true  passages  of  business." — Works,  Vol.  11,  page  311. 

t  The  reason  why  the  heirs  in  tail,  remainders,  and  reversions 
are  thus  barred  is,  because  in  strict  law  the  recompense  adjudged 
against  the  crier,  that  was  vouched,  is  to  go  in  succession  of 
estate  as  the  land  lost  should  have  done.  .  .  .  Upon  feoffments, 
fines,  and  recoveries,  the  estate  of  the  land  doth  settle  as  the 
use  and  intent  of  the  parties  is  declared,  by  word  or  writing, 
before  the  act  was  done;  as,  for  example,  if  they  make  a  writ- 
ing that  one  of  them  shall  levy  a  fine,  or  make  a  feoffment,  or 
suffer  a  recovery  to  the  other,  but  the  use  and  intent  is,  that  one 
should  hold  it  for  his  life,  and  after  his  death,  a  stranger  should 
have  it  in  tail,  and  then  a  third  in  fee  simple :  in  this  case  the 
land  settleth  in  estate  according  to  the  use  and  intent  declared." 
—  Works,  Vol.  7,  page  494.  The  attempted  pun  ujDon  the  word 
"fine"  reminds  us  of  the  following:  "It  makes  me  remember 
what  I  heard  one  say  of  a  judge  that  sat  in  Chancery,  that  he 
would  make  80  orders  in  a  morning  out  of  the  way,  and  it  was 
oxit  of  the  way  indeed,  for  it  was  nothing  to  the  end  of  the  bus- 
iness."—  Works,  Vol.  13,  page  190. 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  '         435 

Richard  II.,  who,  by  such   improper   conduct,  lost   the 
crown,  he  uses  the  forced  and  harsh  figure  that  Richard — 

Enfeoffed  himself  io  popularity  (Act  III.,  Sc.  2)  * 

*  "  So  if  I  make  a  feoffment  in  fee  upon  condition  that  the 
feoffee  shall  enfeoff  over,  and  the  feoffee  be  disseised,  and  a 
descent  cast,  and  then  the  feoffee  bind  himself  in  a  statute, 
which  statute  is  discharged  before  the  recovery  of  the  land  : 
this  is  no  breach  of  the  condition,  because  the  land  was  never 
liable  to  the  statute ;  and  the  possibility  that  it  should  be  liable 
upon  the  recovery  the  law  doth  not  respect." —  Works,  Vol.  7, 
page  328. 

"  Enfeoff'd  himself  to  popularity : 

That  being  daily  swailow'd  by  men's  eyes, 

They  surfeited  with  honey,  and  began 

To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  a  little 

More  than  a  little  is  much  too  much  : 


Being  with  his  presence  glutted,  goi-ged  and  full." 
And  again : 

"  For  as  a  surfeit  of  the  sweetest  things 
The  deepest  loathing  to  the  stomach  brings." 

— Midsummer  Night" s  Dream,  II.,  2. 
"Some  food  we  may  use  long,  and  much  vi\t\\o\xt  glutting ; 
as  bread,  flesh  that  is  not  fat  or  rank,  etc.  Some  other  (though 
pleasant)  glutteth  sooner;  as  sweet  meats,  fat  meats,  etc.  The 
cause  is  for  that  appetite  consisteth  in  the  emptiness  of  the 
tnouth  of  the  stomach;  or  possessing  it  with  somewhat  that  is 
astringent,  and  therefore  cold  and  dry.  But  things  that  are 
Siveet  and  fat  are  more  filling,  and  do  swim  and  hang  more 
about  the  mouth  of  the  stomach,  and  go  not  down  so  speedily ; 
and  again  turn  sooner  to  choler,  which  is  hot,  and  ever  abateth 
the  appetite.  We  see  also  another  cause  of  satiety  is  an  over 
custom,  and  of  appetite  is  novelty ;  and  therefore  meats,  if  the 
same  be  continually  taken,  induce  loathing." — Natural  His- 
tory, §300. 

"  One  word  moi'e,  I  beseech  you.  If  you  be  not  too  much 
cloyed  xvithfat  meat,  our  humble  author  will  continue  the  story." 
— //.,  Henry,  Epilogue. 

"  Thus  do  I  pine  and  surfeit  day  by  day, 
Or  gluttoning  on  all  or  all  away." — Sonnet  LXXV. 


43G  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  I  copy  Malone's  note  of  explanation  on  this  line  : — 
'  Gave  himself  up  absolutely  to  popularity.  A  feoffment 
was  the  ancient  mode  of  conveyance,  by  whiidi  all  lands 
in  England  were  granted  in  fee  simple  for  several  ages, 
till  the  conveyance  of  lease  and  release  was  invented  by 
Serjeant  Moor  about  the  year  1630.  Every  deed  of  feoff- 
ment was  accompanied  with  livery  of  seisin,  that  is,  with 
the  delivery  of  corporal  possession  of  the  land  or  tenement 
granted  in  fee.'  " 

"To  'sue  out  livery'  is  another  law  term  used  in  the 
play  (Act  IV.,  Sc.  3)  —  a  proceeding  to  be  taken  by  a  ward 
of  the  crown,  on  coming  of  age,  to  obtain  possession  of 
his  lands,  which  the  king  had  held  as  guardian  in  chivalry 
during  his  minority.  Hotspur,  in  giving  a  description  of 
Henry  the  Fourth's  beggarly  and  suppliant  condition 
when  he  landed  at  Ravenspurg,  till  assisted  by  the  Percys, 
says : 

And  when  he  was  not  six-and-twenty  strong, 
Sick  in  the  world's  regard,  wretched  and  low, 
A  poor  unminded  outlaw,  sneaking  home, 
My  father  gave  him  welcome  to  the  shore : 

"  Kath.  I  pr'ythee  go,  and  get  me  some  repast ; 
I  care  not  what,  so  it  be  wholesome  food. 
Gru.  What  say  you  to  a  neat's  foot? 
Kath.  'Tis  passing  good;  I  pr'ythee  let  me  have  it. 
Gru.  I  fear,  it  is  too  choleric  a  meat: 
How  say  you  to  a  fat  tripe,  finely  broiled  ? 
Kath.  I  like  it  well ;   good  Grumio,  fetch  it  me. 
Gru.  I  cannot  tell;   I  fear,  'tis  choleric.'^ 

— Taming  of  the  Shrew,  IV.,  3 
"Nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  variety." 

— Antony  and  Cleopatra,  II.,  3. 
"  But  now  thy  uncle  is  removing  hence  ; 
As  princes  do  their  courts,  when  tliey  are  cloifd 
With  long  continuance  in  a  settled  jdace.'' 

—I.,  Henry  VI.,  II.,  5. 
"  My  banquet  is  to  close  our  stomachs  up. 
After  our  great  good  cheer." 

— Tanning  of  the  Shrew,  V.,  S. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  437 

And  when  he  heard  him  swear,  and  vow  to  God, 
He  came  but  to  be  Duke  of  Lancaster, 
To  swe  his  livery,  and  beg  his  peace, 
With  tears  of  innocency  and  terms  of  zeal, 
My  father  in  kind  heart  and  pity  mov'd. 
Swore  him  assistance."  * 

"  In  All 's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  we  meet  with  proof 
that  Shakespeare  had  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  law 
of  England  respecting  the  incidents  of  military  tenure,  or 
tenure  in  chivalry,  by  which  the  greater  part  of  the  land 
in  this  kingdom  was  held  till  the  reign  of  Charles  II. 
The  incidents  of  that  tenure  here  dwelt  upon  are  '  vmrd- 
iiliip  of  minors  '  and  '  the  right  of  the  guardian  to  dispose 
of  the  minor  in  marriage  at  his  pleasure.'  The  scene  lies 
in  France,  and,  strictly  speaking,  the  law  of  that  country 
ought  to  prevail  in  settling  such  questions :  but  Dr.  John- 
son, in  his  notes  on  AlVs  Well  that  JEnds  Well,  justly 
intimates  his  opinion  that  it  is  of  no  great  use  to  inquire 
v/hether  the  law  upon  these  subjects  was  the  same  in 
France  as  in  England,  '  for  Shakespeare  gives  to  all  na- 
tions the  manners  of  England.' 

"  According  to  the  plot  on  which  this  play  is  constructed, 
the  French  King  labored  under  a  malady  which  his  phy- 
sicians had  declared  incurable  ;  and  Helena,  the  daughter 
of  a  deceased  physician  of  great  eminence,  knew  of  a  cure 
for  it.  She  was  in  love  with  Bertram,  Count  of  Rousil- 
lon,  still  a  minor,  who  held  large  possessions  as  tenant  in 

*"The  fourth  institution  was,  that  for  recognition  of  the 
king's  bounty  by  every  heir  succeeding  his  ancestor  in  these 
knight-service  lands,  the  king  should  have  j)}'itner  seisin  of  the 
land,  which  is  one  year's  value  of  the  land ;  and  until  this  be 
paid,  the  king  is  to  be  in  possession  of  the  laud,  and  then  to 
deliver  it  to  the  heir,  which  continueth  in  use  until  this  day,  and 
is  the  very  cause  and  business  of  suing  livery,  and  is  as  well 
where  the  heir  hath  been  in  ward  as  otherwise."—  Works,  Vol.  7, 
jiage  482.  "  Nay,  the  king's  wards,  after  they  had  accom- 
])Hshed  their  full  age,  could  not  be  suffered  to  have  livery  of 
their  lands,  without  paying  excessive  fines,  far  exceeding  all 
reasonable  rates.'' — History  of  Henry  VII. 


438  FRANCIS    BACON 

ca'pite  under  the  crown,  and  was  in  ward  to  the  Kino-. 

Helena  undertook  the  cure,  making  this  condition : 
Hel.  Then  shalt  tliou  give  me  with  thy  kingly  hand 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  command, 
"  Adding  however : 

Exempted  he  from  me  the  arrogance 

To  choose  from  forth  the  royal  blood  of  France. 

But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal,  whom  I  know 

Is  free  for  me  to  ask,  thee  to  bestow. — Act  11.^  So.  1. 

"  She  effects  the  cure,  and  the  King  showing  her  all 
the  noble  unmarried  youths  whom  he  then  held  as  wards, 
says  to  her : 

Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye :   this  youthful  parcel 
Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing. 

thy  frank  selection  make: 

Thou  hast  power  to  choose,  and  they  none  to  forsake. 

"  Helena,  after  excusing  herself  to  several  others,  comes 
to  Bertram,  and,  covered  with  blushes,  declares  her  elec- 
tion : 

Hel.  I  dare  not  say  I  take  you ;  but  I  give 

Me  and  my  service,  ever  while  I  live, 

Into  your  guiding  power. — This  is  the  man. 

King.  Why  then  young  Bertram,  take  her :  she 's  thy  wife. 

"  Bertram  at  first  strenuously  refuses,  saying  : 

In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

"  But  the  King,  after  much  discussion,  thus  addresses 
nim: 

It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honor  where 

We  please  to  have  it  grow.     Check  thy  contempt : 

Obey  our  will,  whicli  travails  in  thy  good. 

Take  her  l>y  the  hand. 

And  tell  her  she  is  thine.      .      .      . 
Bert.  I  take  her  \vM\d.—Act  II.,  Sc.  3.* 

*  "  The  grief  was,  That  every  man's  eldest  son  or  heir  (the 
dearest  thing  he  hath  in  the  world)  was,  by  Prerogative  war- 
ranted by  the  laws  of  the  land,  to  be  in  ward  to  tlie  King  for 
his  body  and  lands  ;   tlian  which  they  conceived  (to  a  free  na- 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEAKE.  439 

"  The  ceremony  of  marriage  was  immediately  pei- 
formed,  and  no  penalty  or  forfeiture  was  incurred.     But 

tion)  nothing  to  be  more  grievous.  But  they  esteemed  it  only 
a  grief,  no  wrong :  sithence  it  had  been  patiently  endured  by 
our  ancestoi's,  and  by  ourselves." — Report  of  Conference  con- 
cerning Wardship.      Works,  Vol.  10,  page  179. 

("  Which  I  held  my  duty,  speedily  to  acquaint  you  withal ; 
sithence,  in  the  loss  that  may  happen,  it  concerns  you  something 
to  know  \i:'—AlVs  Well,  L,  3.) 

"  First  therefore  his  Majesty  hath  had  this  princely  consid- 
eration \i\i\\  himself,  that  as  he  is  pater  patruti,  so  he  is  by  the 
ancient  law  of  this  Viw^iiom.  pater  pupillormti,  where  there  is 
any  tenure  by  knight's  service  of  himself ;  which  extendeth 
almost  to  all  the  great  families  noble  and  generous  of  this  king- 
dom :  and  therefore  being  a  representative  father,  his  purpose 
is  to  imitate  and  approach  as  near  as  may  be  to  the  duties  and 
offices  of  a  natural  father,  in  the  good  education,  well  bestowinfj 
in  marriage,  and  preservation  of  the  houses,  woods,  lands,  and 
estates  of  his  wards." — Works,  Vol.  11,  page  285. 

Curiously  enough,  it  appears  from  Bacon's  History  of  Henry 
VII.  that  he  was  aware  that  this  was  also  the  law  in   France : 

"  So  as  the  marriage  halted  upon  both  feet,  and  was  not  clear 
on  either  side.  But  for  the  contract  with  King  Charles  [of 
France],  the  exception  lay  plain  and  fair ;  for  that  Maximilian's 
daughter  was  under  years  of  consent,  and  so  not  bound  by  law, 
but  a  power  of  disagreement  left  to  either  part.  But  for  the 
contract  made  by  Maximilian  with  the  lady  herself,  they  were 
harder  driven :  having  nothing  to  allege  but  that  it  was  done 
without  the  consent  of  her  sovereign  lord,  King  Charles,  whose 
ward  and  client  she  was,  and  he  to  her  in  place  of  a  father : 
and  therefore  it  was  void  and  of  no  force  for  want  of  such  con- 
sent. King  Charles  thereupon  sent  embassadors  to  King  Henry 
VII.  'to  treat  a  peace  and  league  with  the  king;  accou})ling  it 
with  an  article  in  the  nature  of  a  request,  that  the  French  king 
might  with  the  king's  good  will,  according  ■unto  his  right  of 
seigniory  and  tutelage  dispose  of  the  marriage  of  the  young 
duchess  of  Britain  as  he  should  think  good;  offering  by  a  judi- 
cial proceeding  to  make  void  the  marriage  of  Maximilian  by 
proxy.'" — History  of  Henry  VII. 

And  even  the  laws  and  legal  customs  of  mediaeval  Venice 


440  FKANCIS   BACON 

the  law  not  extending  to  a  compulsion  upon  the  ward  to 
live  with  the  wife  thus  forced  upon  him,  Bertram  escapes 
from  the  church  door,  and  abandoning  his  wife,  makes  off 
for  the  wars  in  Italy,  where  he  unconsciously  embraced 
the  deserted  Helena. 

"  For  the  cure  of  the  King  by  the  physician's  daughter, 
and  her  being  deserted  by  her  husband,  Shakespeare  is 
indebted  to  Boccaccio  ;  but  the  wardship  of  Bertram  and 
the  obligation  of  the  ward  to  take  the  wife  provided  for 
him  by  his  guardian,  Shakespeare  drew  from  his  own 
knowledge  of  the  common  law  of  England,  which,  though 
now  obsolete,  was  in  full  force  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 
and  was  to  be  found  in  Littleton." 

"  In  the  speeches  of  Jack  Cade  and  his  coadjutors  in 
King  Henry  FT.,  Part  II.,  we  find  a  familiarity  with  the 
law  and  its  proceedings  which  strongly  indicates  that  the 
author  must  have  had  some  professional  practice  or  edu- 
cation as  a  lawyer. 

"  The  indictment  on  which  Lord  Say  was  arraigned,  in 
Act  IV.,  Scene  7,  seems  drawn  by  no  inexperienced  hand  : 

Thou  hast  most  traitorously  corrupted  the  youth  of  the  realm 
in  erecting  a  grammar-school :  and  whereas,  before,  our  fore- 
fathers had  no  other  books  but  the  score  and  tlie  tally,  tliou  hast 
caused  printing  to  be  used ;  and  contrary  to  the  king,  his  crown 

were  better  understood  than  many  modern  critics  have  supposed. 
The  following  is  from  a  recent  speech  by  Colonel  Robert  G. 
Ingersoll : 

"  Shakespeare  has  been  criticised  on  account  of  the  trial  scene 
in  The  Merchant  of  Venice.  The  critics  pointed  out  that  noth- 
ing could  be  more  absurd  than  a  young  fellow  coming  along 
and  taking  the  place  of  the  judge  and  proceeding  to  try  a  case. 
All  these  objections  to  Portia,  however,  have  been  found  to 
have  no  foundation.  At  that  time  it  was  the  custom  for  stu- 
dents of  the  great  law  school  at  Padua  to  assist  legal  judges. 
Many  of  these  judges  knew  nothing  of  the  law  and  Avhen  in 
df)ubt  or  trouble,  they  sent  to  Padua  asking  that  some  one 
learned  in  the  law  might  be  sent.  And  it  was  in  accordance; 
with  this  custom  that  Portia  presided  at  the  trial." 


AND    HIS    SHAKEsrEAKE.  441 

and  dignity,  thou  hast  built  a  paper-mill.  It  will  be  proved  to 
thy  face  that  thou  hast  men  about  thee  that  usually  talk  of  a 
noun  and  a  verb,  and  such  abominable  words  as  no  Christian 
ear  can  endure  to  hear.  ('  Inter  Chrlstianos  non  nominand.' 
— Camp.)  Thou  hast  appointed  justices  of  peace,  to  call  poor 
men  before  them  about  matters  they  were  not  able  to  answer. 
Moreover  thou  hast  put  them  in  pi'ison  ;  and  because  they  could 
not  read,  thou  hast  hanged  them,  when  indeed  only  for  that 
cause  they  have  been  most  worthy  to  live. 

"  How  acquired  I  know  not,  but  it  is  quite  certain  that 
the  drawer  of  this  indictment  must  have  had  some  acquaint- 
ance with  '-  The  Crown  Circuit  Companion,'  and  must  have 
had  a  full  and  accurate  knowledge  of  that  rather  obscure 
and  intricate  subject — '  Felony  and  Benefit  of  Clergy.'  "  * 

*  "  But  because  some  prisoners  that  can  read  have  their  books, 
and  be  burned  in  the  hand  and  so  delivered,  it  is  necessary  to 
show  the  reason  thereof.  This  having  their  books  is  called  their 
clergy,  which  in  ancient  time  began  thus :  For  the  scarcity  of 
men  that  could  read,  and  the  multitude  requisite  in  the  clergy 
of  the  realm  to  be  disposed  into  religious  houses,  priests,  dea- 
cons, and  clerks  of  parishes,  there  was  a  prerogative  allowed  to 
the  clergy  that  if  any  man  that  could  read  as  a  clerk  were  to 
be  condemned  to  death,  the  Ijishop  of  the  diocese  might,  if  he 
would,  claim  him  as  a  clerk ;  and  he  was  then  to  see  him  tried 
in  the  face  of  the  court,  whether  he  could  read  or  not.  The 
book  was  prepared  and  brought  by  the  bishop,  and  the  judge 
was  to  turn  to  some  place  as  he  should  think  meet ;  and  if  the 
prisoner  could  read,  then  the  bishop  was  to  have  him  delivered 
unto  him  to  dispose  in  some  place  to  the  clei'gy,  as  he  should 
think  meet:  but  if  either  the  bishop  would  not  demand  him.  or 
that  the  prisoner  could  not  read,  then  was  he  to  be  put  to  death." 
—  Works,  Vol.  7,  page  473. 

Touching  the  "  grammar-school "  the  following  is  pertinent : 
One  Thomas  Sutton,  dying,  left  a  large  estate  which  he  be- 
queathed by  will  to  various  charities,  among  others,  to  the  foun- 
dation of  a  grammar-school.  Bacon,  retained  by  the  heir,  brought 
suit  to  break  the  will :  prior  to  which  he  wrote  a  letter  of  ad- 
vice to  the  King  upon  the  matter,  in  which  he  argued  as  follows  : 
"  Concerning  the  advancement  of  Learning,  I  do  subscribe 


442  FRANCIS    BACON 

"  Cade's  proclamation  which  follows,  deals  with  still 

to  the  opinion  of  one  of  the  wisest  and  greatest  men  of  your 
kingdom  :  That  for  grammar-schools  there  are  already  too  many, 
and  therefore  no  providence  to  add  where  there  is  excess.  For 
the  great  number  of  schools  which  are  in  your  Highness'  realm, 
doth  cause  a  want,  and  doth  cause  likewise  an  overflow,  boili 
of  them  inconvenient,  and  one  of  them  dangerous.  For  by 
means  thereof  they  find  want  in  the  country  and  towns,  both  of 
servants  for  husbandry  and  apprentices  for  trade ;  and  on  the 
other  side,  there  being  more  scholars  bred  than  the  state  can 
prefer  and  employ,  and  the  active  part  of  that  life  not  bearing 
a  proportion  to  the  preparation,  it  must  needs  fall  out  that  many 
persons  will  be  bred  unfit  for  other  vocations,  and  unprofitable 
for  that  in  which  they  are  brought  up ;  which  fills  the  realm 
full  of  indigent,  idle  and  wanton  people,  which  are  but  materia 
rerum  novarum." 

He  urges,  instead,  that  the  salaries  of  the  teachers  in  the  uni- 
versities be  increased :  "Therefore  I  could  wish  that  in  both 
the  universities,  the  lecturers  as  well  of  the  three  j)rofessions. 
Divinity,  Law,  and  Physic,  as  of  the  three  heads  of  science. 
Philosophy,  Arts  of  Speech,  and  Mathematics,  were  raised  in 
their  pensions  unto  100  I.  per  annum  apiece.  Which,  though  it 
be  not  so  great  as  they  are  in  some  other  places,  wliere  the  great- 
ness of  the  reward  doth  whistle  for  the  ablest  men  out  of  all 
foreign  parts  to  supply  the  chair,  yet  it  may  be  a  portion  to  con- 
tent a  worthy  and  able  man,  if  he  be  likewise  contemplative  in 
nature,  as  those  spirits  are  that  are  fittest  for  lectures.^  Thus 
may  learning  in  your  kingdom  be  advanced  to  a  further  height." 
—  JVorks,  Vol.  il,  page  252. 

1 "  Our  Court  shall  be  a  little  Academe, 

Still  and  contemplative  in  living  art." — L.  L,  L.,  I.,  1. 

In  reply  to  a  possible  criticism,  it  should  be  observed  that 
Lord  Bacon,  living  in  the  Sixteenth  century,  is  to  be  judged  by 
the  standards  of  that  time  ;  while  it  has  been  reserved  for  Amer- 
ica to  demonstrate  the  incomparable  value  of  the  "  common 
s(;hool,"  as  well  as  the  fundamental  principles  underlying  the 
dignity,  the  worth,  and  tlie  advancement  of  the  people.  Bacon 
undoubtedly  expressed  to  the  king  his  honest  sentiments  ;  and 
therein  lies  another  harmony: 

llichard  Grant  White,  in  his  Genius  of  Shahespeare,  says  : 


a>;d  his  shakespeake.  443 

more  recondite  heads  of  jurisprudence.     Announcing  his 
policy  when  he  should  mount  the  throne,  he  says : 

The  proudest  peer  in  the  realm  shall  not  wear  a  head  upon 
his  shoulders  unless  he  pay  me  tribute :  there  shall  not  a  maid 
be  married  but  she  shall  pay  me  her  maidenhead  ere  they  have 
it.     Men  shall  hold  of  me  i7i  capite;*  and  we  charge  and  com- 

'•  It  has  been  objected  to  the  assertion  of  the  amplitude  of 
Shakespeare's  mind,  and  to  the  generosity  of  his  character,  that 
lie  always  represents  the  laborer  and  the  artisan  in  a  der/raded 
position,  and  often  snakes  his  ignorance  and  his  uncouthness 
the  butt  of  ridicule." 

To  this  charge  Mr.  White  aptly  replies :  "  Three  hundred 
years  ago  the  husbandman  and  the  mechanic  were  degraded 
in  the  world's  eyes ;  and  Shakespeare,  the  healthiness  of  whose 
understanding  is  as  remarkable  as  any  trait  of  his  genius,  knew 
that  the  world's  appreciation  is  generally  right  of  men  in  mass, 
and  that  these  hard-handed  men  had  all  the  consideration  that 
was  their  due,  though  not  all  the  rights  or  advantages.  It  is 
always  so.  Individual  men  may  fail  to  receive  a  just  apprecia- 
tion ;  but  as  surely  as  water  finds  its  level,  classes  of  men  always 
rise  to  the  standing  that  they  can  maintain.  It  is  because  the 
working-man,  whether  his  labor  be  rude  or  skilled,  has  raised 
himself,  has  in  fact  become  another  man,  that  the  world  now 
awards  him  a  consideration  which  he  did  not  receive  in  the  days 
of  Queen  Elizabeth." 

George  Wilkes,  in  his  Shakespeare  from  an  American  Point 
of  View,  is  less  generous,  verging  even  upon  injustice.  Regard- 
ing the  Poet,  he  says : 

"  Nay,  worse  than  this,  worse  than  his  servility  to  royalty 
and  rank,  we  never  find  him  speaking  of  the  poor  with  respect, 
or  alluding  to  the  working  classes  without  detestation  or  con- 
tempt. We  can  understand  these  tendencies  as  existing  in  Lord 
Bacon,  born  as  he  was  to  privilege,  and  holding  office  from  a 
queen ;  but  they  seem  utterly  at  variance  with  the  natural 
instincts  of  a  man  who  had  sprung  from  the  body  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  who,  through  the  very  pursuits  of  his  father,  and  like- 
wise from  his  own  beginning,  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the 
working  classes  himself." 

*  "  This  case  concerneth  one  of  the  greatest  and  fairest  flow- 
ers of  the  crown,  which  is  the  King's  tenures,  and  that  in  their 


444  FRANCIS    BACON 

mand  that  their  wives  be  as  free  as  heart  can  wish,  or  tongue 
can  tell. 

"  He  thus  declares  a  great  forthcoming  change  in  the 
tenure  of  land  and  in  the  liability  to  taxation :  he  is  to 
have  a  poll-tax  like  that  which  had  raised  the  rebellion ; 
but,  instead  of  coming  down  to  the  daughters  of  black- 
smiths who  had  reached  the  age  of  fifteen,  it  was  to  be 
confined  to  the  nobility.  Then  he  is  to  legislate  on  the 
mercheta  mulicrum.  According  to  Blackstone  and  other 
high  authorities  this  never  had  been  known  in  England  ; 
although  till  the  reign  of  Malcolm  III.,  it  certainly  appears 
to  have  been  established  in  Scotland ;  *  but  Cade  inti- 

creation,  which  is  more  than  their  preservation :  for  if  the  rules 
and  maxims  of  law  in  the  first  raising  of  tenures  in  caplte  be 
weakened,  this  nips  the  flower  in  the  bud,  and  may  do  more 
hurt  by  a  resolution  in  law,  tlian  the  losses  which  the  King's 
tenures  do  dally  receive  by  oblivion  or  suppression,  or  the  neg- 
lect of  officers,  or  the  iniquity  of  jurors,  or  other  like  blasts, 
whereby  they  are  continually  shaken.  And  therefore  it  be- 
hooveth  us  of  the  King's  counsel  to  have  a  special  care  of  this 
case  as  much  as  in  us  is  to  give  satisfaction  to  the  court.  There- 
fore, before  I  come  to  argue  these  two  points  particularly,  I  will 
speak  something  of  the  favor  of  law  towards  tenures  in  capite, 
as  that  which  will  give  a  force  and  edge  to  all  that  I  shall  speak 
afterwards.  .  .  .  But  now  further,  amongst  the  tenures  by 
knight-service,  that  of  the  King  in  cap'de  is  the  most  high  and 
worthy;  and  the  reason  is  double;  partly  because  it  is  held  of 
the  King's  crown  and  person,  and  partly  because  the  law  cre- 
ateth  such  a  privity  between  the  line  of  the  Crown  and  the  inher- 
itors of  such  tenancies,  as  there  cannot  be  an  alienation  without 
the  King's  license;  the  penalty  of  which  alienation  was  by  the 
common  law  the  forfeiture  of  the  estate  itself,  and  by  the  statute 
of  E.  III.  is  reduced  to  fine  and  seisure.  And  although  this 
also  have  been  unworthily  termed  by  the  vulgar  captivity  and 
llu-alldom;  yet  that  which  they  count  bondage  the  law  counteth 
honor." — Argument  in  Lowe's  Case  of  Tenures,  Works,  Vol.  7, 
page  547. 

*  "For  although  I  have  read  and  read  with  delight  the  Scot- 
tish statutes,  and  some  other  collection  of  the!  i'  laws ;  with  delight 
I  say,  partly  to  see  their  brevity  and  proj)iiety  of  speech,  and 


ANT)    HIS    SIIAKESPEARK.  445 

mates  his  cleterminatiou  to  adopt  it, — with  this  alteration, 
that  instead  of  conferring"  the  privilege  on  every  lord  oi 
a  manor,  to  be  exercised  within  the  manor,  he  is  to  assume 
it  exclusively  for  himself  all  over  the  realm,  as  belonging 
to  his  prerogative  royal. 

"  He  proceeds  to  announce  his  intention  to  abolish  ten- 
ure in  free  soccage,  and  that  all  men  should  hold  of  him 
I /I  capite,  concluding  with  a  licentious  jest,  that  although 
his  subjects  should  no  longer  hold  in  free  soccage,  their 
wives  should  be  'as  free  as  heart  can  wish,  or  tongue  can 
tell.'  Strange  to  say,  this  phrase,  or  one  almost  identi- 
cally the  same,  '  as  free  as  tongue  can  speak  or  heart  can 
think,'  is  feudal,  and  was  known  to  the  ancient  law  of 
England.  In  the  tenth  year  of  King  Henry  VII.,  that 
very  distinguished  judge,  Lord  Hussey,  who  was  Chief 
Justice  of  England  during  four  reigns,  in  a  considered 
judgment  delivei'ed  the  opinion  of  the  whole  Court  of 
King's  Bench  as  to  the  construction  to  be  put  upon  the 
w^ords,  '  as  free  as  tongue  can  speak  or  heart  can  think.' 
See  rear  Book,  Hil.  Term,  10  Hen.  VIL,  fol.  13,  pi.  6." 

"  In  As  You  LiJce  It,  Act  L,  Sc.  2,  Shakespeare  makes 
the  lively  Rosalind,  who,  although  well  versed  in  poesy 
and  books  of  chivalry,  had  probably  never  seen  a  bond  or 
a  law-paper  of  any  sort  in  her  life,  quite  familiar  with  the 
commencement  of  all  deeds  poll,  which  in  Latin  was, 
Noverint  universi  per presentes,  in  English,  '  Be  it  known 
to  all  men  by  these  presents ': 

Le  Beau.  There  comes  an  old  man  and  his  three  sons, — 

Cel.   I  could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old  tale. 

partly  to  see  them  come  so  near  to  our  laws ;  yet  I  am  unwill- 
ing to  put  my  sickle  in  another's  harvest,  but  leave  it  to  the  law- 
yers of  the  Scottish  nation :  the  rather,  because  I  imagine  with 
myself  that  if  a  Scottish  lawyer  should  undertake,  reading  of 
the  English  statutes,  or  other  our  books  of  law,  to  set  down  pos- 
itively in  articles  what  the  law  of  England  were,  he  might 
oftentimes  err :  and  the  like  errors,  I  make  account,  I  might 
incur  in  theirs." — A  Preparation  for  the  Union  of  Laivs,  Works, 
Vol.  7,  page  732. 


446  FRANCIS   BACON 

Le  Beau.  Three  proper  young  men,  of  excellent  growth  and 
presence. 

Ros.  With  bills  on  their  necks, — '  j5e  it  known  unto  all  men 
by  these  presents, —  * 

"  This  is  the  technical  phraseology  referred  to  by 
Thomas  Nash  in  his  '  Epistle  to  the  Gentlemen  Students 
of  the  two  Universities,'  in  the  year  1589,  when  he  is  sup- 
posed to  have  denounced  the  author  of  Hamlet.,  as  one  of 
those  who  had  '  left  the  trade  of  JVovei'lnt,  idhereto  they 
were  horn.,  for  handfulls  of  tragical  speeches,' —  that  is  an 
attorney's  clerk  become  a  poet,  and  penning  a  stanza  when 
he  should  engross. 

"  As  You  Lihe  It  was  not  brought  out  until  shortly 
before  the  year  1600,  so  that  Nash's  Noverint  could  not 
have  been  suggested  by  it.  Possibly  Shakespeare  now 
introduced  the  '  Be  it  known  unto  all  men,'  etc.,  in  order 
to  show  his  contempt  for  Nash's  sarcasm."  f 

*  Bacon  embodies  this  humor  in  one  of  his  Apothegms. 
Indeed,  we  do  not  appreciate  the  point  of  the  joke  in  the  play, 
until  we  have  read  the  Apothegm : 

"  Jack  Roberts  was  desired  by  his  tailor,  when  the  reckoning 
grew  soniewliat  high,  to  have  a  bill  of  his  hand.  Roberts  said  : 
/  am  content,  hut  you  must  let  no  unan  know  it.  When  the 
tailor  brought  him  the  bill,  he  tore  it,  as  in  choler,  and  said  to 
him:  You  tise  m,e  not  well;  you  promised  me  nobody  should 
knoiv  it,  and  here  you  have  put  in,  Be  it  known  unto  all  men 
by  these  presents." — Works,  Vol.  7,  page  129. 

t  Regarding  Lord  Campbell's  remarks,  the  inquiry  at  once 
arises, —  Did  Nash  have  an  inkling  of  the  truth  ? 

When,  however,  he  comes  to  the  direct  consideration  of  the 
hypothetical  question  of  fact  regarding  William  Shakespeare, 
put  by  Mr.  Collier,  in  attempted  explanation  of  the  "  familiar, 
profound,  and  accurate  "  knowledge  of  the  law  displayed  in  the 
plays,  to  wit :  "  Whether  Shakespeare  was  a  clerk  in  an  attor- 
ney's office  at  Stratford,  before  he  joined  the  players  in  Lon- 
don ?  "  Lord  Campbell,  in  withholding  his  assent,  f oi-cibly  ob- 
serves : 

"  You  must  likewise  remember  that  you  require  us  implicitly 


AND    HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  447 

"In  Act  III.,  Se.  1,  a  deep  technical  knowledge  of  law 
is  displayed,  howsoevei'  it  may  have  been  acquired. 

"  The  usurping  Duke,  Frederick,  wishing  all  the  real 
property  of  Oliver  to  be  seized,  awards  a  writ  of  extent 
against  him,  in  the  language  which  would  be  used  by  the 
Lord  Chief  Baron  of  the  Court  Exchequer : 

Duke  Fred.  Make  an  extent  upon  his  house  and  lands  —  * 
an  extendi  facias  applying  to  house  and  lands,  as  2ifiei'i 
facias  would  apply  to  goods  and  chattels,  or  a  capias  ad 
satisfaciendum  to  the  person." 

"  In  the  first  scene  of  Act  IV.,  Shakespeare  gives  us 
the  true  legal  meaning  of  the  word  'attorney,'  viz.,  repre- 
sentative or  dejnity.  (Celui  qui  vient  a  tour  d'  autrui ; 
Qui  alterius  vices  subit ;  Legatus  ;  Vakeel.) 

Bos.  Well,  in  her  person,  I  say  —  I  will  not  have  you. 

Orl.  Then,  in  my  own  person,  I  die. 

Eos.  No,  faith,  die  by  attorney.  The  poor  world  is  almost 
six  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this  time  there  was  not  any 
man  died  in  his  own  person,  videlicet,  in  a  love  cause." 

to  believe  a  fact,  which,  were  it  true,  positive  and  irrefragable 
evidence  in  Shakespeare's  own  handwriting  might  have  been 
forthcoming  to  establish  it.  Not  having  been  actually  inrolled 
as  an  attorney,  neither  the  records  of  the  local  court  at  Strat- 
ford, nor  of  the  superior  courts  at  Westminister,  would  present 
his  name,  as  being  concerned  in  any  suits  as  an  attorney ;  but 
it  might  have  been  reasonably  expected  that  there  would  have 
been  deeds  or  wills  witnessed  by  him  still  extant ;  —  and  after 
a  very  diligent  search,  none  such  can  be  discovered.  Nor  can 
this  consideration  be  disregarded,  that  between  Nash's  Epistle 
in  the  end  of  the  16th  century,  and  Chalmers'  suggestion  more 
than  two  hundred  years  after,  there  is  no  hint  by  his  foes  or  his 
friends  of  Shakespeare  having  consumed  pens,  paper,  ink,  and 
pounce  in  an  attorney's  office  at  Stratford." 

*  "  To  the  fifteenth  article  of  the  charge,  videlicet,  WiUiam 
Compton  being  to  have  an  extent  for  a  debt  of  one  thousand 
and  two  hundred  pounds,  the  Lord  Chancellor  stayed  it,  and 
wrote  his  letter,  upon  which  part  of  the  debt  was  paid  pres- 
ently, and  part  at  a  future  day." — WorJcs,  Vol.  14,  page  257. 
See  also  page  366. 


448  PRANCrS    BACON 

"Near  the  end  of  the  same  scene  Shakespeare  again 
cvhices  his  love  for  legal  phraseology  and  imagery  by  con- 
verting Time  into  an  aged  Judge  of  Assize,  sitting  on  the 
Crown  side: 

Eos,  Well  Time  is  the  old  Justice  that  examines  all  such 
offenders,  and  let  Time  try. 

"  As  in  Troilus  and  Cressida  (Act  IV.,  Sc.  5)  Shake- 
speare makes  Time  an  Arbitrator: 

And  that  old  common  Arbitrator,  Time, 
Will  one  day  end  it."  * 

*  This  was  a  favorite  thought  with  Bacon,  to  which  he  gave 
manifold  expression: 

"  Every  man  knows  that  Time  is  the  controller  of  laws." 

Works,  Vol.  10,  page  19.  "  For  the  law  (as  has  been  said 
before )  cannot  be  framed  to  meet  all  cases ;  but  is  adapted  to 
such  as  generally  occur.  But  Time,  as  was  said  of  old,  is  the 
wisest  of  things,  and  the  author  and  inventor  every  day  of  new 
ca.%^&:'— Works,  Vol.  14,  page  96.  "Neither  are  they  of  au- 
thority to  judge  this  question  against  all  the  iwecedents  of 
Time.'" — Id.,  page  477. 

"  And  if  any  one  take  this  general  acquiescence  and  consent 
for  an  argument  of  weight,  as  being  the  jugdment  of  Time,  let 
me  tell  him  that  the  reasoning  on  which  he  relies  is  most  falla- 
cious and  weak  ...  so  neither  the  births  nor  the  miscarriages 
of  Time  are  entered  in  our  records.'' —  Works,  Vol.  4,  page  15. 
"  Time  hath  tried  it,  and  we  find  it  to  be  the  best." —  Works, 
Vol.  14,  page  174.  "  Sixthly,  if  it  be  said  the  number  of  fees  is 
much  increased  because  causes  are  increased,  that  is  a  benefit 
which  Time  gives  and  Time  takes  away." — Works,  Vol.  10, 
page  285.  "  Let  me  so  give  every  man  his  due,  as  I  give  Time 
his  due,  which  is  to  discover  Truth." — Works,  Vol.  8,  page  125. 
("  Time's  glory  is  to  calm  contending  kings. 

To  unmask  falsehood,  and  bring  truth  to  light." 

— The  Rape  of  Lucrece.) 

"  —  and  the  inseparable  property  of  Time,  which  is  ever  more 
and  more  to  disclose  truth.  .  .  .  For  the  apjjeal  is  (lawful 
though  it  may  be,  it  should  not  be  needful)  from  the  first  cog- 
itations of  men  to  their  second,  and  from  the  nearer  times  to 
the  times  further  off."  —  Advancement  of  Learning,  Second 
Book.      Works,  Vol.  3,  page  477. 


AND   HIS   SHAKESPEARE.  449 

"  Tlie  Merchant  of  Venice^  in  the  last  scene  of  the  last 
act,  contains  another  palpable  allusion  to  English  legal 
procedure.  In  the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench,  when  a  com- 
plaint is  made  against  a  person  for  a  contempt,  the  prac- 
tice is  that  before  sentence  is  finally  pronounced,  he  is  sent 
into  the  Crown  Office,  and  being  there  '  charged  upon 
i?iterrogatories,^  he  is  made  to  swear  that  he  will '  answer 
all  things  faithfully.''  Accordingly,  in  the  moonlight 
scene  in  the  garden  at  Belmont,  after  a  partial  explanation 

And^:*er  contra: — "  But  on  the  other  side,  who  knoweth  not 
that  Time  is  truly  compared  to  a  stream,  that  carrieth  down 
fresh  and  pure  waters  into  that  salt  sea  of  corruption  which 
environeth  all  human  actions  ?  And  therefore  if  man  shall  not 
by  his  industry,  virtue,  and  policy,  as  it  were  with  the  oar  row 
against  the  stream  and  inclination  of  Time,  all  institutions  and 
ordinances,  be  they  never  so  pure,  will  corrupt  and  degenerate." 
—  Works,  Vol.  10,  page  105. 

We  find  flowing,  as  from  an  inexhaustible  fountain,  yet  other 
variations  of  the  theme: 

"  I,  that  please  some,  try  all ;  both  joy  and  terror 
Of  good  and  bad ;  that  make  and  unfold  error, — 
Now  take  upon  me,  in  the  name  of  Time, 
To  use  my  wings.     Impute  it  not  a  crime  • 

To  me,  or  my  swift  passage,  that  I  slide 
O'er  sixteen  years,  and  leave  the  growth  untried 
Of  that  wide  gap  ;  since  it  is  in  my  power 
To  overthrow  law,  and  in  one  self-born  hour 
To  plant  and,  o'erwhelm  custom.     Let  me  pass 
The  same  I  am,  ere  ancient'st  order  was. 
Or  what  is  now  received.     I  witness  to 
The  times  that  brought  them  in :  so  shall  I  do 
To  the  freshest  things  now  reigning,  and  make  stale 
The  glistering  of  this  present,  as  my  tale 
Now  seems  to  it." 

— Time  as  Chorus  in  A  Winter's  Tale,  IV. 

"  We  see  which  way  the  stream  of  Time  doth  run." 

— //.,  He7iry  IF.,  IV.,  1. 

See  also  the  characterization  of  Time  in  Troilus  ayid  Cressida, 
Act  III.,  Sc.  3. 

29 


450  FRANCIS    BACON 

between  Cassanio,  Gratiano,  Portia,  and  Nerissa,  about 
their  rings,  some  further  inquiry  being  deemed  necessary, 
Portia  says : 

Let  us  go  in, 
And  charge  %is  there  upon  inter' gatorles, 
And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

"  Gratiano  assents,  observing  : 

Let  it  be  so :  the  first  inter'gatory 
That  my  Nerissa  shall  be  sworn  on  is, 
Whether  till  the  next  night  she  had  rather  stay. 
Or  go  to  bed  now,  being  two  houi's  to  day."  * 

"  In  Othello^  Act  lo,  Sc.  3,  in  the  trial  of  Othello  before 
the  Senate,  as  if  he  had  been  indicted  on  Stat.  33  Hen. 
VII.  c.  8,  for  practising  '  conjuration,  witchcraft,  enchant- 
ment, and  sorcery,  to  provoke  to  unlawful  love,'  Brabantio, 
the  prosecutor,  says : 

She  is  abused,  stol'n  from  me,  and  corrupted 

By  spells  and  medicines  bought  of  mountebanks ; 

For  Nature  so  proposterously  to  err. 

Sans  witchcraft  could  not. 

"  The  presiding  judge  at  first  seems  alarmingly  to  favor 
the  prosecutor,  saying : 

Duke.  Who'er  he  be  that  in  this  foul  proceeding 
Hath  thus  beguil'd  your  daughter  of  herself, 
And  you  of  her,  the  bloody  book  of  law 
You  shall  yourself  read,  in  the  bitter  letter, 
After  your  own  sense. 

"  The  Moor,  although  acting  as  his  own  counsel,  makes 

*  "  In  other  words,  I  mean  (according  to  the  practice  in  civil 
causes)  in  this  great  Plea  or  Suit  granted  by  the  divine  favour 
and  providence  (whereby  the  human  race  seeks  to  recover  its 
right  over  nature),  to  examine  Nature  herself  and  the  arts  upon 
interrogatories." — Parasceve,  Works,  Vol.  4,  page  263. 

The  following  is  another  example  of  Bacon's  apt  employment 
of  legal  terms  in  his  non-professional  writings  :  "  For  since  they 
have  debarred  Christ's  wife  of  a  great  part  of  her  dowry,  it  were 
reason  they  made  her  a  competent  jointure." — On  the  Pacifir 
cation  and  Unification  of  the  Church,  Works,  Vol.  10,  page  125. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  451 

a  noble  and  skilful  defense,  directly  meeting  the  statutable 
misdemeanor  with  which  he  is  charged, —  and  referring 
pointedly  to  the  very  words  of  the  indictment  and  the  Act 
of  Parliament : 

I  will  a  round  unvarnish'd  tale  deliver 

Of  my  whole  course  of  love;  what  drugs,  what  charms, 
What  co7ijiiratlon,  and  what  mighty  magic 
(For  such  proceedings  I  am  charged  withal) 

I  won  his  daughter  with. 

"  Having  fully  opened  his  case,  showing  that  he  had 
used  no  forbidden  arts,  and  having  explained  the  course 
which  he  had  lawfully  pursued,  he  says  in  conclusion : 

This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  used : 
Here  comes  the  lady  —  let  her  witness  it. 

"  He  then  examines  the  witness,  and  is  honorably  ac- 
quitted."* 

"  Act  III.,  Sc.  3,  shows  that  Shakespeare  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  all  courts,  low  as  well  as  high ;  —  where 
lago  asks : 

Who  has  a  breast  so  pure, 
But  some  uncleanly  apprehensions 
Keep  leets  and  law-days,  and  in  session  sit 
With  meditations  lawful  ?  " 

"  In  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  in  the  Induction, 
Shakespeare  betrays  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  matters 
which  may  be  presented  as  offences  before  the  Cow't  Leet, 
the  lowest  court  of  criminal  judicature  in  England.  He 
puts  this  speech  into  the  mouth  of  a  servant  who  is  trying 
to  persuade  Sly  that  he  is  a  great  lord,  and  that  he  had 

*  "  For  witchcraft,  by  the  former  law  it  was  not  death,  except 
it  were  actual  and  gross  invocation  of  evil  spirits,  or  making 
covenant  with  them,  or  taking  away  life  by  witchcraft.  But 
now  by  an  act  in  his  Majesty's  times,  charms  and  sorceries  in 
certain  cases  of  jirocuring  of  unlawful  love  or  bodily  hurt,  and 
some  others,  are  made  felony  the  second  offence  ;  the  first  being 
imprisonment  and  pilory." — Charge  on  Opening  the  Court, 
Works,  Vol.  11,  page  268. 


452  FRANCIS    BACON 

been  in  a  dream  for  fifteen  years,  during  which  time  ho 

thought  he  was  a  frequenter  of  ale-houses : 

For  though  you  lay  here  in  this  goodly  chamber, 
Yet  would  you  say,  ye  were  beaten  out  of  door, 
And  rail  upon  the  hostess  of  the  house, 
And  say  you  would  ^resewi  her  at  the  leet, 
Because  she  brought  stone  jugs,  and  no  sealed  quarts." 

"  Now,  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  James  I.,  there 
was  a  very  wholesome  law,  that,  for  the  protection  of  the 
public  against '  false  measures,'  ale  should  be  sold  only  in 
sealed  vessels  of  the  standard  capacity ;  and  the  violation 
of  the  law  was  to  be  presented  at  the  '  Court  Leet '  or 
'  View  of  Frankpledge,'  held  in  every  hundred,  manor,  or 
lordship,  before  the  steward  of  the  leet."  * 

"  In  Much  Ado  About  Nothing^  if  the  different  parts 
of  Dogb^ry's  charge  are  strictly  examined,  it  will  be  found 

*■ "  There  have  been  by  use  and  statute  law,  besides  survey- 
ing pledges  of  freemen,  and  giving  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and 
making  constables,  many  additions  of  power  and  authority  given 
to  the  Stewarts  of  Leets  and  Law-days,  to  be  put  in  use  in  their 
courts.  As  for  example,  they  may  punish  innkeepers,  victual- 
lers, bakers,  brewers,  butchers,  poulterers,  fishmongers,  and 
tradesmen  of  all  sorts  selling  at  underweight  or  measure,  or  at 
excessive  prices." — Works,  Vol.  7,  page  467. 

In  1601,  during  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  "Mr.  Bacon 
stood  up  to  prefer  a  new  bill "  in  Parliament.  In  his  speech, 
he  said : 

"  This,  Mr.  Speaker,  is  no  bill  of  state  nor  of  novelty,  like  a 
stately  gallery  for  pleasure,  but  neither  to  dine  in  nor  sleep 
in ;  but  this  bill  is  a  bill  of  repose,  of  quiet,  of  profit,  of  true 
and  just  deahng;  the  title  whereof  is  an  'Act  for  the  Better 
Suppressing  of  Abuses  in  Weights  and  Measures.'  ...  I'll 
tell  you,  Mr.  Speaker,  I  '11  speak  out  of  mine  own  experience 
that  I  have  learned  and  observed,  having  had  causes  of  this 
nature  referred  to  my  report,  that  this  fault  of  using  false 
weights  and  measures  is  grown  so  intolerable  and  common  that, 
if  you  woiUd  build  churches,  you  shall  not  need  for  battlements 
and  bells  other  things  than  false  weights  of  lead  and  brass." — 
Works,  Vol.  10,  page  18. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  450 

that  the  author  of  it  had  a  very  respectable  acquaint:«iu'e 
with  crown  law.  The  problem  was  to  save  the  constables 
from  all  trouble,  without  any  regard  to  the  public  safety : 

Dogh.  If  you  meet  a  thief  you  may  suspect  him,  by  virtue  of 
your  office,  to  be  no  true  man ;  and  for  siu-Ii  kind  of  men,  the 
less  you  meddle  or  make  with  them,  why,  the  more  is  for  your 
honesty. 

^d  Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  he  a  thief,  shall  we  not  lay 
hands  on  him? 

Dogh.  Truly,  by  your  office  you  may ;  *  but,  I  think,  they 
that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled.  The  most  peaceable  way  for 
you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is  to  let  him  show  himself  what  he 
is,  and  steal  out  of  your  company. 

"  Now  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Lord  Coke  himself 
could  not  more  accurately  have  defined  the  power  of  a 
peace-officer." 

"  We  find  in  several  of  the  '  Histories '  Shakespeare's 
fondness  for  law  terms  ;  and  it  is  still  remarkable,  that 
whenever  he  indulges  this  propensity,  he  uniformly  lays 
dov/n  good  law. 

"  Thus,  in  the  controversy,  in  the  opening  scene  of 
King  John,  between  Robert  and  Philip  Faulconbridge, 
as  to  whi(!h  of  them  was  to  be  considered  the  true  heir  of 
the  deceased  Sir  Robert,  the  King,  in  giving  judgment, 
lays  down  the  law  of  legitimacy  most  perspicuously  and 
soundly, —  thus  addressing  Robert,  the  plaintiff : 

Sirrah,  your  brother  is  legitimate : 
Your  father's  wife  did  after  wedlock  hear  him  ; 
And  if  she  did  play  false,  the  fraud  was  hers, 
Which  fault  lies  on  the  hazards  of  all  husbands 

*  "  For,  first,  if  any  man  will  lay  murder  or  felony  to  another's 
charge,  or  do  suspect  him  of  murder  or  felony,  he  may  declare 
it  to  the  constable,  and  the  constable  ought,  upon  such  declara- 
tion or  complaint,  to  carry  him  before  a  justice  of  peace ;  and 
if  by  common  voice  or  fame  any  man  be  stispected,  the  constable 
ought  to  arrest  him,  and  bring  him  before  a  justice  of  peace, 
though  there  be  no  other  accusation  or  declaration." —  Works, 
Vol.  7,  page  752. 


454  FRANCIS    BACON 

That  marry  wives.     Tell  me,  how  if  my  brother, 
Who,  as  you  say,  took  pains  to  get  this  son. 
Had  of  your  father  claim'd  this  son  for  his? 
In  sooth,  good  friend,  your  father  might  have  kept 
This  calf,  bred  from  his  cow,  from  all  the  world : 
In  sooth,  he  might :  then,  if  he  were  my  brother's. 
My  brother  might  not  claim  him,  nor  your  father. 
Being  none  of  his,  refuse  him.     This  concludes  — 
My  mother's  son  did  get  your  father's  heir ; 
Your  father's  heir  must  have  your  father's  land. 

"  This  is  the  true  doctrine,  '  Pater  est  quern  niqMce. 
demonstrat.''  It  was  likewise  properly  ruled  that  the 
father's  will,  in  favor  of  his  son  Robert,  had  no  power  to 
dispossess  the  right  heir."  * 

"  In  King  Lear^  Act  II.,  Sc.  1,  there  is  a  remarkable 
example  of  Shakespeare's  use  of  technical  legal  phrase- 
ology. Edmund,  the  wicked  illegitimate  son  of  the  Earl 
of  Gloster,  having  succeeded  in  deluding  his  father  into 
the  belief  that  Edgar,  the  legitimate  son,  had  attempted 
to  commit  parricide,  and  had  been  prevented  from  accom- 
plishing the  crime  by  Edmund's  tender  solicitude  for  the 
Earl's  safety,  the  Earl  is  thus  made  to  express  a  determi- 
nation that  he  would  disinherit  Edgar  (who  was  supposed 
to  have  fled  from  justice),  and  that  he  would  leave  all  his 
possessions  to  Edmund : 

Glo.  Strong  and  fasten'd  villain ! 


*  "  This  only  yet  remains  :  if  the  father  has  any  patrimony 
and  the  son  be  disobedient,  he  may  disinherit  him ;  if  he  will 
not  deserve  his  blessing  he  shall  not  have  his  living.  But  this 
device  of  perpetuities  has  taken  this  power  from  the  father  like- 
wise; and  has  tied  and  made  subject  (as  the  proverb  is)  the 
parents  to  their  cradle,  and  so  notwithstanding  he  has  the  curse 
of  his  father,  yet  he  shall  have  the  land  of  his  grandfather. 
And  what  is  more,  if  the  son  marry  himself  to  a  woman  dif- 
famed,  so  that  she  bring  bastard  slips  and  false  progeny  into 
the  family,  yet  the  issue  of  this  woman  shall  inherit  the  land, 
for  that  the  first  perpetuator  will  have  it  so,  who  is  dead  a  long 
time  before." — Works,  Vol.  7,  page  634. 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  455 

All  ports  I  '11  bar ;  the  villaiu  shall  not  'scape. 

Besides,  his  picture 
I  will  send  far  and  near,  that  all  the  kingdom 
May  have  due  note  of  him ;  and  of  my  land, 
Loyal  and  natural  boy,  I  '11  work  the  means 
To  make  thee  capahle. 

"  In  forensic  discussions  respecting  legitimacy,  the  ques- 
tion is  put,  whether  the  individual  whose  status  is  to  be 
determined  is  '  capable,'  i.  e.,  capable  of  inheriting ;  but  it 
is  only  a  lawyer  who  would  express  the  idea  of  legitimiz- 
ing a  natural  son  by  simply  saying : 

I  '11  work  the  means 
To  make  him  capable."  * 

"  In  Antony  and  CleojKitra,  Act  I.,  Sc.  4,  Lepidus,  in 
trying  to  palliate  the  bad  qualities  and  misdeeds  of  An- 
tony, uses  the  language  of  a  conveyancer's  chambers  in 
Lincoln's  Inn  : 

His  faults,  in  him,  seem  as  the  spots  of  heaven, 

More  fiery  by  night's  blackness  ;  hereditary 
Rather  than  2iurchasd. 

"  That  is  to  say,  they  are  taken  by  descent,  not  hy  piir- 
chase. 

"  So  in  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.,  Act  IV.,  Sc.  4, 
the  King,  who  had  uswyed  the  crown,  says  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales: 

For  what  in  me  was  purchas'd 

*  "  It  is  also  to  be  noted,  that  persons  attainted  of  felony  or 
treason  have  no  cajjacity  to  take,  obtain,  or  purchase,  save  only 
to  the  use  of  the  King,  until  they  be  pardoned." — Works,  Vol. 
7,  page  487. 

"  For  Richard  the  Third  had  a  resolution,  out  of  his  hatred 
to  both  his  brethren,  King  Edward  and  the  Duke  of  Clarence, 
and  their  lines,  having  had  his  hand  in  both  their  bloods,  to 
disable  their  issues  upon  false  and  incompetent  pretexts  —  the 
one  of  attainder,  the  other  of  illegitimation." — History  of 
Henry  VII. 


456  FRANCIS    BACON 

Falls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fairer  sort. 
i.  e.,  I  took  by  jjurchase^  you  will  take  by  descent." 

"  Laymen  (viz.,  all  except  lawyers)  understand  by 
*  purchase  '  buying  for  a  sum  of  money,  called  the  price  ; 
but  lawyers  consider  that '  purchase  '  is  opposed  to  descent, 
—  that  all  things  come  to  the  owner  either  by  descent  or 
by  jmrchase,  and  that  whatever  does  not  come  through 
operation  of  law  by  descent  is  'purcliased,  although  it  may 
be  the  free  gift  of  a  donor.  Thus,  if  land  be  devised  by 
will  to  A.  in  fee,  he  takes  by  purchase,  or  to  B.  for  life, 
remainder  to  A.  and  his  heirs,  B.  being  a  stranger  to  A., 
A.  takes  by  purchase  ;  but  upon  the  death  of  A.,  his  eldest 
son  would  take  by  descent y* 

"  In  The  Winter's  Tale,  Act  I.,  Sc.  2,  there  is  an  allu- 

*  And  therefore  we  see  what  an  endless  work  the  King  of  Spain 
hath  had  to  recover  the  Low  Countries,  although  it  were  to  hitn 
patrimony  and  not  purchased — Of  the  True  Greatness  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Britain,  Works,  Vol.  7,  page  51. 

"  Wherein  I  may  not  omit  to  give  obiter  that  answer  which 
law  and  truth  provide,  namely,  that  when  any  king  ohtaineth 
by  war  a  country  whereunto  he  hath  right  by  birth,  that  he  is 
ever  in  upon  his  ancient  right,  and  not  upon  his  purchase  by 
conquest." —  Case  of  the  Post-nati  of  Scotland,  Works,  Vol.  7, 
page  673. 

"  Which  you  hope  likewise  will  be  the  hereditary  issue  of 
this  late  purchase  oi  the  Palatinate." — Works,  Vol.  14,  page 
463. 

*'  The  ancient  councils  and  synods  ( as  is  noted  by  the  eccle- 
siastical story)  when  they  deprived  any  bishop,  never  recorded 
the  offence,  but  buried  it  in  jjerpetual  silence.     Only  Cham 
purchased  his  curse  with  revealing  his  father's  disgrace." — On 
the  CoJitroversies  of  the  Church,  Works,  Vol.  8,  page  82. 
"  Bethink  you  father  ;  for  the  difference 
Is,  purchase  of  a  heavy  curse  from  Rome, 
Or  the  light  loss  of  England  for  a  friend." 

— King  John,  III.,  1. 
«'  Then,  as  my  gift,  and  thine  own  acquisition 
Worthily  purchased,  take  my  daughter." 

—  Temiiest,  IV.,  1. 


AND   HIS   SHAKESPEARE.  457 

sion  to  a  piece  of  English  law  procedure,  which,  although 
it  might  have  been  enforced  till  very  recently,  could 
hai'dly  be  known  to  any  except  lawyers,  or  those  who  had 
themselves  actually  been  in  prison  on  a  criminal  charge, 
—  that  whether  guilty  or  innocent,  the  prisoner  was  liable 
to  pay  a  fee  on  his  liberation.  Ilermione,  trying  to  per- 
suade Polixenes,  King  of  Bohemia,  to  prolong  his  stay  at 
the  court  of  Leontes  in  Sicily,  says  to  him : 

You  put  me  off  with  limber  vows ;  but  I, 

Though  you  would  seek  t'  unsphere  the  stars  with  oaths. 

Should  yet  say,  '  Sir,  no  going  '     .     .     .     . 

Force  me  to  keep  you  as  a  prisoner, 

Not  like  a  guest ;  so  you  shall  jmy  your  fees 

When  you  depart,  and  save  your  thanks. 

"  I  remember  when  the  Clerk  of  Assize  and  the  Clerk 
of  the  Peace  were  entitled  to  exact  their  fee  from  all  ac- 
quitted prisoners,  and  were  supposed  in  strictness  to  have 
a  lien  on  their  persons  for  it.  I  believe  there  is  now  no 
tribunal  in  England  where  the  practice  remains,  excepting 
the  two  Houses  of  Parliament ;  but  the  Lord  Chancellor 
and  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  still  say  to 
prisoners  about  to  be  liberated  from  the  custody  of  the 
Black  Rod  or  the  Sergeant-at-Arms, '  You  are  discharged, 
"paying  your  fees. ^  "  * 

''  In  Act  III.,  Sc.  2,  it  is  likewise  remarkable  that 
Cleomenes  and  Dion,  the  messengers  who  brought  back 
the  response  from  the  oracle  of  Delphi,  to  be  given  in 
evidence,  are  sworn  to  the  genuineness  of  the  document 
they  produce  almost  in  the  very  words  now  used  by  the 
Lord  Chancellor  when  an  officer  presents  at  the  bar  of 
the  House  of  Lords  the  copy  of  a  record  of  a  court  of 
justice :  

*  K.  Hen.  Master  lieutenant,  now  that  God  and  friends 
Have  shaken  Edward  from  the  regal  seat, 
And  turn'd  my  captive  state  to  liberty, 
My  fear  to  hope,  my  sorrows  unto  joys, 
At  our  enlargement  what  are  thy  due  fees? 

—///.,  Henry  VI.,  IV.,  6. 


458  FRANCIS    liyVCON 

You  here  shall  swear 

That  you,  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  have 

Been  both  at  Delphos ;  and  from  thence  have  brought 

The  seal'd-up  oracle,  by  the  hand  delivered 

Of  great  Apollo's  priest ;  and  that,  since  then, 

You  have  not  dar'd  to  break  tlie  holy  seal, 

Nor  read  the  secrets  in 't." 

"In  Hamlet,  Act  I.,  Sc.  1,  Marcellus  inquires  what 
was  the  cause  of  the  warlike  preparations  in  Denmark : 

And  why  such  daily  cast  of  brazen  cannon, 
And  foreign  mart  for  implements  of  war? 
Why  such  impress  of  shijnvrights,  whose  sore  task 
Does  not  divide  the  Sutiday  from  the  week"? 

"  Such  confidence  has  there  been  in  Shakespeare's  accu- 
racy, that  this  passage  has  been  quoted,  both  by  text 
writers  and  by  judges  on  the  bench,  as  an  authority  upon 
the  legality  of  the  press-gang,  and  upon  the  debated  ques- 
tion whether  shijnvrights,  as  well  as  common  seamen,  are 
liable  to  be  pressed  into  the  service  of  the  royal  navy. 
(See  Barrington  on  the  Ancient  Statutes,  p.  300.)" 

Lord  Campbell  cites  many  other  examples,  both  from 
the  Plays  and  the  Poems,*  showing  also  conclusively  (in 

*  The  experienced  chancery  lawyer  will  discern  in  the  87th 
Sonnet  the  embodiment  of  a  profound  principle  of  equity. 
Moreover,  light  is  thrown  upon  the  text  by  the  following  unique, 
but  scholarly  legal  definition : 

"  And  herein  I  note  the  wisdom  of  the  law  of  England,  which 
termeth  the  highest  contempts  and  excesses  of  authority  M'ls- 
2J7'islons;  which  (if  you  take  the  sound  and  derivation  of  the 
words)  is  but  mistaken'';  (The  italics  are  Bacon's). —  Works, 
Vol.  14,  page  134. 

"  Thyself  thou  gav'st,  thy  own  worth  then  not  knowing. 
Or  me,  to  whom  thou  gav'st  it,  else  inistaking ; 
So  thy  great  gift  upon  misprision  growing. 
Comes  home  again,  on  better  judgment  making. 
Thus  have  I  had  thee,  as  a  dream  doth  flatter. 
In  sleep  a  king,  but,  waking,  no  such  matter." 
(  "  Have  not  many,  which  take  themselves  to  be  inward  coun- 


AND    ITIS    SnAKESPEARE.  459 

a  discussion  too  extended  for  quotation)  that  the  "crowners 
quest  law,"  set  forth  in  the  Grave-digger's  scene  in  Ham- 
let, "the  mine  which  produces  the  richest  legal  ore,"  is  a 
direct  travesty  upon  the  celebrated  case  of  Hales  vs.  Petite 
tried  in  the  reign  of  Philip  and  Mary,  and  reported  in 
Plowden ;  making  it  clear  that  the  Poet  "intended  to 
ridicule  the  counsel  who  argued  and  the  judges  who  de- 
cided it." 

He  then  continues : 

"  Having  concluded  my  examination  of  Shakespeare's 
juridical  phrases  and  forensic  allusions, — on  the  retrospect 
I  am  amazed,  not  only  by  their  number,  but  by  the  accuracy 
and  propriety  with  which  they  are  uniformly  introduced. 
There  is  nothing  so  dangerous  as  for  one  not  of  the  craft 
to  tamper  with  our  free-masonry.  (Let  a  non-professional 
man,  however  acute,  presume  to  talk  law,  or  to  draw  illus- 
trations from  legal  science  in  discussing  other  subjects,  and 
he  will  very  speedily  fall  into  some  laughable  absurdity.) 
In  the  House  of  Commons  I  have  heard  a  country  member, 
who  meant  to  intimate  that  he  entirely  concurred  with  the 
last  preceding  speaker,  say,  '  I  join  issue  with  the  honor- 
able gentleman  who  has  just  sat  down; '  the  legal  sense  of 
which  is,  '  I  flatly  contradict  all  his  facts  and  deny  his  infer- 
ences.' Junius,  who  was  fond  of  dabbling  in  law,  and 
who  was  supposed  by  some  to  be  a  lawyer  (although  Sir 
Philip  Francis,  then  a  clerk  in  the  War  Office,  is  now  ascer- 
tained, beyond  all  doubt,  to  have  been  the  man),  in  his 
address  to  the  English  nation,  speaking  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  wishing  to  say  that  the  beneficial  interest 

sellers  with  Nature,  proved  but  idle  believers,  that  told  us  tales 
which  were  no  such  matter'?  " — Works,  Vol.  8,  page  383.) 
And  again : 

"  What  hast  thou  done  ?  thou  hast  mistaken  quite, 
And  laid  the  love-juice  on  some  true-love's  sight, 
Of  thy  misprisioti,  must  perforce  ensue 
Some  true-love  turn'd,  and  not  a  false  turn'd  true." 
— Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  IIL,  2. 


4G()  FRANCIS    BACOlSf 

in  the  state  belongs  to  the  people,  and  not  to  their  repre- 
sentatives,  says,  '  They  are  only  trvstees  :  the  fee  is  in  us.' 
Now  every  attorney's  clerk  knows  that  when  land  is  h(;ld 
in  trust,  the  fee  (or  legal  estate)  is  in  the  trustee,  and  that 
the  beneficiary  has  only  an  equitable  interest.  While  Novel- 
ists and  Dramatists  are  constantly  making  mistakes  as  to 
the  law  of  marriage,  of  wills,  and  of  inheritance, — to  Shake- 
spea7'e's  law,  lavishly  as  he  pi'ojjounds  it,  there  can  neither 
he  demurrer,  nor  bill  of  exceptions,  nor  writ  of  error T 

And  thus,  travel  in  what  direction  we  may,  all  roads  lead 
to  Rome :  and  everywhere,  we  may  trace  the  footsteps  of 
the  Master. 

The  tenure  of  all  our  knowledge  is  "  scientific  faith," 
or  in  another  word,  recognition,  the  goal  of  induction. 
This  recognition  is  attained  through  insight,  and  insight 
through  close  observation, — through  this  entrance  gate  of 
homely  horn.  Moreover,  every  fact  is  environed  in  voiee- 
fid  harmonies,  the  subtly  entrancing  concord  of  its  rela- 
tions to  all  other  facts ;  and  it  is  through  their  delightful 
comprehension  that  we  enter  into  its  possession.  This  is 
essentially  the  scientific  method  ;  applicable  in  every  de- 
partment of  knowledge.  And  always  and  everywhere, 
"The  capital  precept  for  the  whole  undertaking  is  this,  that 
the  eye  of  the  mind  be  never  taken  off  from  things  them- 
selves, but  receive  their  images  truly  as  they  are." 

And  again  we  hear,  as  in  a  refrain,  the  exquisite  har- 
mony in  the  Poet's  words : 

"  Why  write  I  still  all  one,  ever  the  same, 
And  keep  invention  in  a  noted  weed, 
That  every  ivord  doth  almost  tell  my  name, 
Showing  their  birth,  and  where  they  did  proceed'^'' 


AND   HIS    SHAKESPEARE.  461 

We  cannot  conclude  without  a  brief  word  of  tribute  to 
Delia  Bacon.  Alone,  and  first  in  all  the  world,  she  dis- 
cerned Bacon's  authorship  of  the  plays.  Realizing  pro- 
foundly the  value  of  her  discovery,  this  noble  woman  freely 
devoted  her  life  to  its  development.  Crossing  the  Atlantic 
to  prosecute  her  researches  in  London,  she  was  compelled 
by  her  poverty  to  live  there  in  a  garret,  and  almost  lit- 
erally upon  bread  and  water.  Through  the  effect  of  her 
privations,  while  thus  absorbed  in  her  work,  her  mind 
at  length  became  clouded,  and  her  life  went  out  in  dark- 
ness,—  a  sacrifice  to  her  devotion.  But  through  her  un- 
tiring efforts,  her  discovery  had  been  published  :  and  since 
then,  all  who  have  dealt  with  the  theme  have  but  labored 
in  the  exploration  and  development  of  the  rich  mine  she 
first  discovered  and  disclosed  to  the  world  ; — and  to  her  be 
the  wreath  of  immortality. 


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